A Black Tie Event
by Swaben
Summary: After a careless disaster off of the coast of a humble East Blue port town, Kuro is forced to re-prioritize. An unprecedented occupation challenges his previous lifestyle as intriguing choices and recollections await him through the people he meets and the connections drawn from them. Peoples' lives are often complicated. Will a second chance be his best at gaining peace of mind?
1. Author's Note

**A Black Tie Event**

* * *

_Not many men escape death only to read about it later. Kuro recalled the first time clearly: his execution was glamorized by the news, the deaths culminating to it covered up by what the media called a "coinciding incident". Morgan's incompetence in that he was the instigator of nearly one hundred deaths of his own men would not have been looked upon kindly by the public. In fact, it would horrify them—that Marine was both a hero and a villain, both an invincible savior and a coward simply for being the strongest to survive while his peers were bleeding out. Kuro was one of the few privy to the truth of that night. _

_The Government was a precarious organization, one he never exactly knew much about, but some things were certain: much like himself, they were always hiding something, and always trying to bury the skeletons in their closet out of any perceivable view._

* * *

**Author's Note**

About:

Oda left plenty to wonder as to what actually became of Kuro, so I got the idea to write about untold spaces in his history. I've always thought of him as an "oddball" for One Piece because of how heavy his personality was. I wanted to write something about a villain. This will also gleam into the lives of other characters along the way, but mainly through Kuro's observations.

Time-wise, this begins after Luffy defeats Crocodile, around three months after Kuro's defeat.

Etc.:

This story mixes canon and non-canon elements and characters. There are original characters that play some significant roles, each with their own lives and goals that may or may not cross paths with our protagonist's and have different levels of importance in the plot. The One Piece world is pretty gigantic!

Thanks for reading!

~Swaben


	2. The Man With Nine Lives

Comments and critiques welcome! I appreciate them all since they help me practice my writing. Thank you to everybody who has left their thoughts so far.

~Swaben

* * *

**A Black Tie Event**

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

**The Man With Nine Lives**

There was an unsettling rumble.

Another shortly followed.

"Captain!"

The portly pirate's beady eye darted fearfully against the peephole on the most elaborate door of the Bezan Black: one of the most infamous plunderer ships in the East Blue, painted in grievous shades of black, red, and gold. With its kittenish yellow eyes and agape mouth, its feline figurehead was in a perpetual state of surprise, and how fitting that was for the current events.

A thin, dark-haired man lay entirely still inside of the captain's quarters, his body carefully arranged on a large futon adorned with broad, monochromatic stripes. Captain Kuro was at the summit of his harmlessness: entirely, hopelessly, and deeply asleep. His expression was neutral, yet all too serious for a man unawake.

Apparently, the captain of a ship was always the member who deserved the most rest, and unarguably the most respect and unconditionally blind loyalty. At least this was the notion that Kuro of the Black Cat pirates had always held close, and even more so ever since he was destroyed literally and figuratively by a rubber seventeen year old with, in his humble opinion, the brain of a marmoset.

Three months ago, he was returned to his crew and deservedly thrust into a world of pain. When the renewed captain awakened to see the motley faces of his surviving crewmen instead of the high ceiling of a mansion, his first reaction was to scream at them as they huddled close. It was an alarmed yell, filled with shock and anger, with disbelief cutting through its center. The wooden splinters of the deck prickled along his palms as he stumbled himself backwards, and he cringed at the burn of his newly aggravated wounds. He broke down in secrecy that first evening, pure frustration threatening to consume him. It was a scarce and serious occurrence for any trace of emotions to burst through the dam. He stuffed his nose into a paperweight of a book, potentially fantasizing about all of the ways to rip his crewmen apart that very night. It was madness, he thought, that he was back here: it was the start of rock-bottom. The thoughts streamed through him like a raging river, echoing _wrong, wrong, wrong _into the swirl of a torrential whirlpool. The taste of his shattered goal dug deep like the spiked burr of a weed ever since.

That first night of his reunion with the sea, he convinced himself that he'd rather have been eaten by vultures who mistook him for dead in Syrup Village—he could even have dealt with villagers spitting on him and dragging him through town. At least then he could have bolted into the woods and smuggled himself onto a stray ferry. Of course, this was a dramatic sort of baloney, but Kuro knew himself well, and was notorious for becoming infuriated and inanely self-absorbed on the flip of a coin if his reputation wasn't at stake, contrast to his often inhuman lack of real emotions.

During the first few days of adjustment, nothing seemed worse than his dictatorial obligation to a crew of simple-minded drunkards all over again. Entirely new irritations included freshly scabbing friction wounds, a busted ego that was once inflated beyond rationality, and a ruined suit. He could have thought of far worse fates, but nothing changed the fact that his situation was trying his patience and serving as a reminder of his most elaborate failure. He hated his crew. Whoever had the gall to reinstate his bounty was clever and vengeful, and for a good reason.

He still despised the irony of a child, Straw Hat Luffy, foiling his sinister three-year plot. His moments of introspection regarding the Syrup Town incident didn't matter as much as his irritation towards his blunder—_their _blunder. To a man who failed to accept his own flaws, everything was at the fault of another person's inevitable stupidity. And so, as the few months passed, he adjusted roughly while hiding an atrocious temper.

His heavy sleep was surely the result of his previous night of drinking absurd amounts of sake and resorting to fierce sleeping pills. It was the nightly finale to ignoring his crew by shutting himself in his quarters to read. Not even a sound as obnoxious as a family of stampeding gorillas could awaken him now, the evidence being clear through the empty bottles of sake rolling and dancing along the table, and the tiny container of anti-insomnia pills jittering upon the nightstand.

"We can't hold 'em! This is...!"

An unpleasant scream sounded outside of his quarters, enough to bust an eardrum, but the thick windows prevented it from projecting all of its intensity. A bright flicker of blood painted the adjacent window, and Kuro remained sleeping contently, caught up in a web of mental flips.

Although normally a composed and calculating man with a freezing heart of ice, Kuro grew to be at the tether of his fortitude, but refused to be tamed when peace was not directly beneath his fingers. It seemed that the Black Captain had reached the cusp of his villainy, and with his downfall he grew world-weary and unwilling to have enthusiasm. His crewmen noticed the change in him, at least on the outside. Their captain was never a man to be so fickle and unambitious. There was something he wanted that he could never receive on the deck of a pirate ship, and they knew it in the way that he spoke, sternly and impatiently, the way that he carried himself, and the way that a rare hint of melancholy could flash in his eyes. Ambiguous and disconnected was his stare, and it was scarcely singular or personal, but it delved into all of them, and he easily regarded them as one collective mass of burdensome space. They talked amongst themselves about how strange, even frightening, it was whenever he exhibited lamentation over the death of his capital goal. His gaze out to sea became detached, and for once an emotion of his was not mysterious or misleading: he would be engulfed in a far-away thought, his face looking otherwise soulless besides an reflective pair of slate grey eyes. It was similar to the way that any of them would silently grieve the loss of someone dearest to the heart, but it was also all too different. The disturbing reality was that Captain Kuro regularly confided not in friendship or in love, but in status and material comforts, and deeply within himself, seeking from others his own narcissistic gains and giving nothing in return but deceit and ruin.

Struggling in the external world, a cacophony of shrieking Black Cats bayed in fright, calling for their captain, but their voices weren't heard. Kuro would always enjoy strategy, but implementing this with his crew now made his head pound and his blood boil. It was as if he were playing chess with pieces that moved across the squares on their own after he aligned them in just the right places.

"Wake him up!"

There was a frenzied pounding on his door: one that remained locked each and every night to preserve the captain's own definition of serenity.

Just the previous evening, he had tossed aside the Straw Hat boy's renewed bounty poster of 100,000,000 Beri, and put it out of his mind, with a strange mixture of scorn and indifference. He remembered when it was a mere thirty million, and when he was undetected by the Marines. Despite how it damaged his pride that a simple boy could doubly outrank him, he considered them better days, though not as great as those spent skulking through a mansion.

"Buchi! Focus! Just break the door and make sure none of them get past us!" Siam's high voice spat, followed by his own tinny squeal as another blade clashed against his own weapon. It made his knobby elbows shake. His tenuous muscles strained beneath his bizarre figure and he was clearly outnumbered after his fair share of blooding.

As the oblivious captain was trapped in that slumber, his wretched dreams fluctuated between egoism and luxury that would make any humble person's lip curl. Suddenly, there was a harsh crunching noise; his door had been broken amongst the clamor, and the two dimorphic men were posed defensively against its shattered opening.

"Got it—got it! Quit dancing around—I'll cover you! Go in, go in, and get him out here before I keel over!" Buchi gestured with his arm to his bony accomplice. Then the fat man shouted, and his unrefined scream was not a façade this time. His massive chest pumped and shriveled from his own scaling exhaustion. "If we fail—if they don't kill us first, _he_ will! Imagine, when a guy like him wakes up and sees that—all of what's happening! We're_ screwed_, Siam!"

A strand of the bespectacled man's hair stirred at the wind flowing into the room, and the sound of the calamity intensified. Despite this, he failed to move much.

"CAPTAIN!" Siam screeched into his ears. He began aggressively pulling at the man's shirt collar and shaking his sluggishly relaxed shoulders in a panicked rage. "_CAPTAIN _KURO!"

Kuro's response was a hollow breath and a slack-jawed mouth. At this point, Siam would consider himself lucky if he even spotted a trickle of drool.

He frenetically jumped on his bed, and his captain was jounced about like a boneless marionette, nearly being flung onto the floor. He banged pots and pans together, cringing and frantically looking behind him. In desperation, he shattered Kuro's favorite globe, and its ebony pieces twinkled along the deck and crawled into the molded cracks of the boards. It would likely sign his death warrant if the man ever awoke. Siam was about to pull his own hair out, or throw this unconscious man to the Marines himself, or toss his own body to them out of complete and utter resignation.

"Why? _Why? _This_ never_ happens! _Never_! I swear, I'm gonna..." Siam gasped quietly and his pupils grew wider. Something captured his attention like a dangling string would to a nervous kitten. He hissed as he wielded a brightly colored fruit-knife that he snatched from the nearby table. "I can't take it anymore. If you can't even react to this, then… _Then_…"

He raised it high above his head, succumbing to a fervent and ritualistic frown. The blade plummeted downwards, though a piece of him intended to stop it millimeters from Kuro's chest. He couldn't bring himself to it. He had attempted mutiny before, but it felt all too rotten. Before he could reach his full swing, his wrist was caught as if the reflex were as simple as tossing in his sleep. His captain's fingers squeezed on it like a lion crushing its fangs into the neck of a gazelle.

Siam shrieked.

He was rendered speechless, save for one tiny and crackling squeak. The stern hand lazily slipped off of him, leaving red grip-marks to vanish on his pasty arm.

The stupefied eccentric nodded, convinced that the Black Captain was possessed and hopeless to sleep forever. He backed away to put the knife in its proper place. He pushed himself into the fray of the outside world again despite his exhaustion, onto the deck that was booming with chaos, the opposition desperately attempting to reach into the very quarters that he was escaping from.

Quietly, in the midst of it all, as if confined in another world, there in Kuro's mind was a still peacefulness. What lay in his judgment was a mixture of past and present, of real and imaginary: the typical dreams of an atypical man.

Little did he know that this morning would be far different than the ones before it.

The loss of his next life was not in the plan.


	3. A Rude Awakening

**Chapter 2: **

**A Rude Awakening**

Siam's laughter nearly drowned out his own overjoyed clapping.

"_Yes!_ That's right! Turn, you damned yella'bellies!"

"I think we've done it, boys!" Buchi swung his arms outward to the surviving crowd while the remaining Marines were evacuating and streaming out of the ship like frenzied ants. Some cheered, some sneered, some boasted about how they could impress their captain, with others grousing about how much they wanted a cold drink.

"_Look _at these guys," a Marine petty officer watching from afar nudged his accomplice.

"They really think we're scared," replied the seaman beside him, who had remarkably large teeth that barely fit inside of his mouth.

The recruits squawked aloud and their chuckling persisted despite the possible lurking presence of the galleon's captain, with only a strip of ocean between the predator and the prey.

Of course, the Marines were not so easily shaken by a single crew of East Blue pirates, nor were they new to the types of techniques that Black Cats used in order to dispatch them. They evaded their previous cannon fire or, rather, their battalion leader went as dramatic as kicking them into the ocean. He stubbed his toe more than once, twirling around the deck, foot in hand. The seamen were clever and experienced enough to pass on codes with hand motions, one of which meant that the vessel was going to open fire as a last resort. Although many valuable items that Kuro had pilfered, that they had not already retrieved with excited hands, would be lost in the process, it ensured that there would be no survivors to tell the other side of the wreck for years to come.

The lumbering sound of cannons being pushed and lugged was heard across the not-so-distant expanse, and the ship's imposing Vice Admiral was surveying the Marine deck. Eventually his eyes latched onto every discrepancy on the Bezan Black ahead of him. Like a focused hawk, his eyes were drawn to the weakness in the frames, the faults in its architecture and its old and worn blind spots that hid beneath lavish paint.

The green-haired pirate's eyelids quivered at the sight of the cannons. He stared down at his own shaking limbs. This time, his cowardice was entirely real.

With an aghast expression, the larger man faced his sibling, "Siam?"

"Buchi?"

He placed his chubby hands on his shoulders.

"I just... I love you, man! If we don't make it, then I'll see you in Hell!"

"Damn it, Buchi! _You know it_," Siam's eyes turned jellylike and his mouth blubbered as he clutched his own chest. "Don't say things like that!" he dug his face into his arm and let out a hoarse gasp while tears and snot streamed from his face. "We're brothers, and we're going to save our asses!"

They then busied themselves with deafening screaming that was projected all the way to the border of the Marine vessel. The two rushed frantically to find the escape boats. While the remaining crew was in a state of bewildered frenzy, they pushed and shoved and dashed with impressive quickness that trumped the remaining hooligans.

"We've let them struggle long enough! I know he's in there, he's hiding, I can practically _sniff him out_," the leader of the Marine fleet lowered his binoculars, his curly mustache twitching. "If you can't lure a cat out of its hiding place, then you need to blow it up!_" _

"I don't think that's how that saying goes, Vice Admiral."

"That's... A great observation, Ensign Sheri… Now, let's stop this play and begin the work!" the tall man gestured dramatically with a stiff index finger. "Just hold her steady and fire! In succession, on my count! Keep your eyes sharp! Trust nothing! And if he makes it onto this ship, think of your family, and for the Greater Good! Make sure that he doesn't leave alive!"

Meanwhile, the two brothers many meters away were bickering.

"Our goddamn captain is still passed out, like a rock, I bet!" Siam puffed and pulled with difficulty on the ropes, his hands burning under the rough friction at work. "I've never seen him that _stupid_. This is the worst day of my life. Maybe my last! I mean, I don't even think—"

"Imagine if he _heard you_!" whispered Buchi.

"It's those damned sedatives of his. What is it… Melanine?"

"Mezzanine?"

"No, no… _Melon_ time—"

"Melatonin?"

"Yeah, yeah, that one."

"I broke down his door—you almost tried to kill him—and now—we're not going to try to save him?" the fatter man huffed and swung his head around to spot the loading cannons.

"Ha! Not a chance," Siam scoffed, turning in his eyebrows while the eyeliner streamed off of his face from his fearful sweat. "I've had enough of his tyranny!"

"Good point! We're getting out of here!"

After they failed to lower the escape boats quickly enough, the two resorted to diving into the water.

Shortly following their escape, the rattling, rumbling blast of several cannons broke up the muddled sounds of shouted orders and screamed threats. Uniform and rigid, the Marine formations deeply contrasted the arbitrary chaos of the Black Cat vessel. Flailing bodies were sent skyward, and stragglers abandoned ship, only to be caught by a few clever Marines who surveyed the waters below the larger military vessel.

In one destructive and thunderous instant, the captian awoke.

Kuro found himself flying through the air and being surrounded by a deafening cage of noise. Adrenaline jolted through his veins in a startling flash. His dark eyes shot open and were overwhelmed by the sudden wash of light. The force of the blast was thrusting him forward with alarming speed. His body rocketed through the circular window that once gave him an outside view, and he rapidly squeezed through its center with such bizarre accuracy as a cat would have when squeezing itself through the crevice in a door. Cringing, he shielded himself from the shattered glass following him through the air, though a thin fleck of blood escaped his forearm and pattered into the ocean. In a flurry of sight and sound, Kuro saw the last crumbling moments of his ship, his Bezan Black, until his featherweight body turned and flipped until he collided with the frigid sea below.

"There!"

A Marine underling pointed a gloved index finger to the flying man and got the Vice Admiral's attention. He was the man known among the Naval community as Mongoose, who was previously scoping with his binoculars, parading around deck, and shouting with noticeable enthusiasm in the thick of a battle. His hair and beard, that were once a muted and wispy blond in his youth, were peppered with an ashen grey tone.

This Mongoose fellow was impressed and the operation was going as planned. If they could not personally dispatch the Black Cat leader, they would simply destroy everything that made him so. The decorated man had his fair share of experiences where there would often be the most influential and dangerous members on the ship taking cover in more secretive passageways in larger vessels if they were too weak, too sick, or simply too intelligent to fight.

However, this was absolutely none of that, and it was one of the most peculiar and ill-fated ambushes he'd ever carried out—and it was certainly unexpected of a captain known for his calculating ruthlessness. This visual was enough to make him laugh, and it manifested as a booming roar. It was not even in cruelty, but more out of pity at all of its ridiculousness.

It felt as though Kuro was smacked into a pile of cement upon his ungraceful landing. They say that a cat always lands on his feet, but this isn't the case when one is bumped off of a bed while it's dreaming. The water's chilly hand crushed the bewildered schemer at first. He gasped at the sudden rush of water entering his throat, he felt the saltiness stream into his lungs. His glasses were sluggishly yet all too speedily floating below him. Their cold metal frame soon startled his toes and he grabbed for them in a sudden panic. Once his glasses returned to his face, Kuro was exasperated as to what he was seeing. His ship was utterly ruined, its fate sealed to become a tottering, beleaguered hunk of a previously fine design. Heavier chunks of debris were bubbling downward and nestling in the nearby reef, and the now-shredded wood was teetering and groaning against the wind. An explosive plume of orange and yellow invaded his sight, and he quickly hid under an astray plank, lightly lifting it to breathe from under the water.

He quickly felt his instincts overhauling his immediate sense of shock. Kuro didn't remember the exact reason that he flew out of the window his quarters with such baffling speed and precision that the laws of nature could have been plotting against him. He could only assume that it was from the shattering smash of a cleverly placed cannon ball. The razor-thin cut on his arm was burning, its red line already felt wet and grainy against his fingers. He swiftly cooled his head despite seeing his gold gone, specifically in the hands of this Marine battalion who had already cut down enough of his men to confiscate it. They shamelessly stepped over the crumpled bodies of his crewmen. His hands were free to act upon his own plight, but they were all too naked and weaponless. He would find it to be lucky to snap a grunt's neck if they just so happened to fall into the water.

Kuro hadn't fully accepted the situation yet, but he acted as if it was meaningless: he put his own life before anything else and his men had obviously failed to meet his expectations. It required him to improvise, and so he did, scouring for any of his belongings, evading hounding eyes, and being unsuccessful at finding anything but his captain's coat. He spotted it with a fair amount of luck. It was previously a blur of black and red as he flew through the air, but was now floating beneath a watery shadow. He quickly dove again, dressing a body with a keen eye towards his other directions. The corpse was previously known by the name of Naishi—a shipwright far stronger than his appearance—and he made a fine decoy, sharing his dark attributes and underweight body. Improvising was never his style, but neither was accepting complete failure.

There were Marines with sabers, and guns, and plenty with, no matter what weapon lay in their hands, focused and alert expressions insistent on extracting any remnant of living, breathing piracy from the ocean. The particularly nettlesome had smug pleasure slapped across their faces at the glory of possibly drowning him.

In perfect timing to break his incubating thoughts, shouts that were vulgar enough to dirty the air were thrown across the divide. Lifting his face slightly from under a floating plank, he saw that his two most distinguished buffoons were now aboard an otherwise ordinary Marine battleship, titled _ERMINE _on its side: growling, snapping, hissing, and making every other irritating noise that Kuro could think of. They panted from exhaustion as several recruits arrested them with firm handcuffs and taut ropes. He supposed that they would be fine subjects for interrogation, though not the most cooperative. Without much of a second thought, he was thankful that they were disembarrassed from his life, along with the rest of his crew, but his money and material possessions were ruined entirely, and this made him irate.

Was it really the end?

Probably not.

The water was disgusting. He wasn't nearly as adept in the water as he was on the land, but he could manage. Kuro envisioned himself as a shadow, slithering through the brine undetected. He hid time and time again under any ample-sized piece of rubble, and even shielding himself with his dead crew mates. Any man comfortable with such heinous conditions might as well be called vile.

His leaden eyes narrowed and shifted from side to side. The captain of the Black Cat vessel was a patient man, while being ruthlessly impatient at the same time—he was often a living contradiction, but used this often to his own advantage. He would wait as long as necessary before they caught onto his dead form, but he was inwardly rushing with anxiety if he were to be found. He wouldn't allow it. His head pounded and he felt like his own stomach acid was eating at his insides. Kuro wondered of his own involvement with the sake and the pills last night. He simply couldn't recall.

The next slice of time passed as a blur, but it stuck to his memory like a parasite to his skin. He was rushing in and out of the chopped waves, to and fro, gasping for his own breath, sticking to the bottom of planks and stray pieces of escape boats, mapping out each and every next direction he'd choose. It was mentally engaging, physically straining, and highly annoying. He saw everything, from the passing seaman's gangly arm muscles supporting the grip of a rifle, to scores of waterproof boots nestled inside of smaller boats. Soggy debris was tapped and moved and poked and searched, until they recovered his convincing facsimile and examined poor Naishi scrupulously, and they would be searching for tattoos or lack thereof, and any other odd and notable difference that was scoped out under his files.

A twisted smile etched across his face while his conniving eyes were hidden by the forlornly mangled back of a deckhand.

To Kuro of One Hundred Plans, survival was merely a waiting game.


	4. Shock Value

**Chapter 3: **

**Shock Value**

The moments that Kuro spent waiting within that putrid water seemed to last for ages, but he was unmoved after he crawled into the perfect hiding place that he spotted amongst the rubble. The surface of the water had a nauseating scent when it mixed with blood. It was the type of liquid that could stick to a man's skin and cause him to faint. He was getting sick from the acrid stench of the bodies around him, even more so at how he had little foundation for a good plan. After agonizingly long searching, the Marine platoon had finally gone, but not without the mandatory and congratulatory whoops and hollers.

Kuro hoisted his sopping frame onto the pitched quarterdeck, and his soaked clothes contributed to the ungraceful flop that he made onto its wooden support. He pressed himself low onto its uneven deck and his thin frame was shivering from the cold. Curving his spine like a twisted feline, he balled his fists, and hacked moist coughs to free the remnants of salt water and phlegm from his lungs. He spent a few minutes crawling slowly about the shattered sides of his once intact ship while feeling his muscles lock and bunch. It was a rather delayed reaction to the electrifying shock out of the forced rest from the overnight effects of the sedatives. Squeezing his eyelids together, he ran his hands over his hair and sat upright. Silence quickly descended upon the wreck and in the thick of his otherwise terrible temper, he was calmed by it.

The first thing he did was search the bloodied body of one of his mates. He examined his numerous pockets for valuables after prying a cold, silver pocket-watch from his hand, probably yanked out of the shaking fingers of a young Marine. Its engraved insignia shone in the sunlight. Kuro stared at the frigid hand, its fleshy fingers held in a gripping position. He curled his lip and gently pulled out a brass compass from the man's breast pocket. Not as handsome as his favorite compass, but it would do, even if it was almost ruined by the salt from the water that stuck deep inside of it.

He thought deeply for a moment: his two favorite buffoons were gone and arrested, and the rest of his pawns drowned, sliced, eviscerated, or shot. In actuality, Siam and Buchi were not to be missed much, since the highlight of their careers was acting impudent and mutinous while having a constant and severe ineptitude in critical thinking, let alone in how to dress. He refrained from growing his rage into a boiling fit of inner fury.

Parts of his ship were not sinking, but merely becoming jammed within a reef that lay meters beneath his feet. Kuro raised a pallid hand to his forehead and his sigh drawled until it became a low hiss. After more fruitless rummaging, he gave up, and laid his legs out straight, palms pressed against the deck. He pondered. He could always resort to diving underwater with the slim chance of recovering his valuables, but there was the harrowing reality that sharks would soon lurk about and be delighted by a fresh meal. Kuro was completely unarmed, his deadly gloves confiscated under his nose. He stared at his wetly pruned hands. The dark-haired fellow had gotten slightly thinner since he fought Luffy, a boy he categorized as insane and foolish with too much enthusiasm and not enough sense. He cleaned his glasses to pass the time, and he began to think of strategies to reach shore safely as his fingers ran across the frames. His eyes reflected a composed, chilly indifference, but beneath this deceptive surface was a man overtaken by subdued frustration.

His signature spectacles returned to his face and his vision cleared. It was now about 5:30 AM, and the sun was crawling up on the horizon like an invasive and ascending orb. A large coast lay in front of Kuro's eyes, being tauntingly close yet at a very long distance from his messy wreck. It appeared mostly remote, with tufts of green atop pillars of dark trunks that lined the forests beyond the sand. This was uninteresting: his main focus was the inklings of a bustling port lying to the right of his vision. Small, but compacted, he saw Milltown's wharf, and three of its flags billowing in the wind, flying solid colors of blue and white. This was his planned destination, and teasingly, ironically, his entire scheme had fallen short from this catastrophe. Kuro had made trips to Milltown before, years in his past, although this knowledge was partly rendered useless in his current state, judging how the option to raid was now a simple dream. But he would reach Milltown's shore, somehow: he knew so.

Realization was bearing down upon him quickly as he sat there, staring into nothing. He continued to scour through his mental cabinets to formulate a plan. Despite his brilliance, there were times were he would feel weak, and refuse to become vulnerable despite his surroundings, and inside his mind he would thrash like a stubborn animal.

His insides coiled at the fact that he was nearly penniless and stuck in the middle of a broken and bloody soup that would become encircled by hungry sharks. Kuro lamented the crippling loss of all of his journals, maps, and books that he held closer to his heart than most people—and the sake. He did miss the sake, too. The man didn't even want to think about his gold that he watched get seized when he was half-asleep and incoherent, flying through the air without any say. The thought was painful—it hurt him more than any word ever uttered to him from anybody in his tumultuous past. Captain Kuro had been called evil, awful, sinister, and completely unforgivable, and almost every other synonym associated with the list, from those who loved him and those who didn't, but he batted his eyes to it all. But the absence of every ounce of his money turned the water in his blood into steam. He wanted nothing more than the slice up whatever Navy grunt who laid his hands on it, to never forgive them. Fate's ironically helping hand was both intuitive and merciless.

The coast in the distance taunted him the more that he looked at it. There was only one word that made its way to his mouth, one utterance that escaped his lips in a silent whisper.

_Shit._

Gone.

The thought prodded him again: his journals were gone. Years of his life, save for the recent three year gap on the humble Gecko Islands, had been preserved inside of their coarse, yellowed pages, murmuring and growling through his long and sharp pen strokes. They contained invaluable information on locations and hot spots that he had sucked dry of precious details. However, he held some ambivalence. This destroyed his former self, its external shell.

He held his head again at the pinch of his hangover, thumbs pressed to his temples. His pawns had been thrown aside, and his galleon, his chessboard, smashed. He had the ambition to view the ground he stepped on as a chessboard, too. He would simply find new pieces and another board to keep him afloat. Despite the surrounding circumstances, his mind still wandered to that achingly true desire: peace of mind. Where could it be? And why, after all of his thorough manipulation, has he not gotten it? Why hasn't the path of those he stepped on led him to luxury yet? He found it ironic and infuriating. Kuro's teeth were lightly clenched, and he rested a finger to his bottom lip, furrowing his dark eyebrows. There was only so long that he could wait and bask in the ruin of his recent past.

The sound of flapping wings broke his mental silence. A buzzard alighted onto the nearby corpse, staring at him with its beady eyes apprehensively, and their aqueous surface reflected his slouched form.

"It appears we're the only ones alive here," Kuro narrowed his eyes. He sneezed and pressed his face into his hands. The bird rustled at his chilled voice and grew uncomfortable. It sidled to the other side of the corpse and lightly prodded the dead pirate with its beak. The creature was content as long as it kept its distance from this strangely still and pensive man.

He looked at the scavenger again, falling into a contemplative state. He read that buzzards could be hosts to plenty of unpleasant diseases. It was the parasites that kept some of them from flying. Slowly, they would overrun the body, and leave broken hosts in their wake. The thought of himself falling ill to any of that was sickening, but it was clear that he needed a host of his own. Just like before, during those days spent walking in the sun, cleaning wine glasses, rolling valet carts, in that blasted mansion, with those winding staircases—he heard something.

Did the Marines have second thoughts?

Kuro stirred from the sound of a motor in the distance. He saw a silhouette on a small, quick boat, drawn ahead by an engine that buzzed and snarled. It kept its distance from the wreck, but he had his suspicions. It would seem to go forward for a while, but would then turn around, and make bowed turns. Frowning, he closed his eyes from a moment, he felt the heat beat down on him, absorbing along his skin. It was a peculiar morning: one unbelievable event seemed to stack on top of the other.

That engine's growl never exceeded a shriek or a snarl, and the sound was more like an inconsistent sputtering. Kuro grew uncomfortable at the thought of being watched, and he turned his head to observe the boater. The rider moved curiously, but they appeared indecisive. Their presence ebbed and bobbed near the wreck, and they began to get closer to the site, until they reached the farthest piece of debris meters ahead. He rolled behind an amalgamate of planks and observed suspiciously. This was not a time for annoyances, or for any sort of lone Marine to come poking around where death would surely follow.

He saw the unfamiliar figure finger a case on the side of their belt. Their form looked somewhat innocuous and of average size and weak girth—there was a good chance that they were a simple civilian. A weather-worn windbreaker shielded her from the wayward gusts that would occasionally sweep by. There was a look of repressed shock to the boater's face, as if they were unaccustomed to seeing dead pirates riddled across the water and hanging off the sides of debris. Surely any competent Marine wouldn't be alone. He found it unusual for a citizen to be up so early roaming around across the ocean. But they were wearing Milltown's colors, and that was good enough for him.

The former captain watched them stop the engine for a moment to pull out a cigarette from its flimsy case and light it. The Milltown civilian smoked for a few minutes, and, after their nerves were calmed, the cigarette's glowing tip was doused in the seawater. Her lungs expanded, and the boater continued, and the growl came back, along with a leaping trail of bubbling water that lingered behind.

Kuro quickly shifted himself sideways. Suddenly, a plank gave in beneath his foot, and there came a noticeable crunch. Covert observation never lasts. The buzzard flew away and glided directly past the boater. In a swift second, the woman was on alert, and her body became tense.

"Who's there? Anyone?"

Kuro thought for a moment. He analyzed the inflections in her voice. The person appeared convinced that they weren't alone, only temporarily distracted by the buzzard.

"Go on! Give me a sign!"

It was now or never. His spindly hand rose up. He feigned shakiness, his fingers trembling, and he gave a few convincingly weak waves. Today, on one very outlandish morning, One Hundred Plans would hitch a ride.


	5. Kurt Pierce

**Chapter 4:**

**Kurt Pierce**

"Sir? Are you alright?"

The chilly water sloshed and churned beneath him, and the cold biting the ex-captain's skin was being yanked up to the very hairs on his arms by the morning wind. The weather had been placid and sunny until the sky began to form grayish lumps to feed the trees that dotted the distant coast with its potential rain. Billowing clouds had swept over the once radiant sun rays, but Kuro's eyes didn't darken a bit—in fact, his face lit up with opportunity at the sight of this wayward boater.

"… Hello?" the stranger blinked impatiently, and she moved her head around, attempting to lock eyes. "Sir? I'm speaking to _you._ Can't you hear a thing?"

"Oh—oh, thank _goodness_," Kuro lauded with a persuasive sigh, throwing his head back as he built an impression. "I thought I'd be here all day."

"Good. You heard me after all," her hands were already lying on her hips. "Are you hurt?"

"Minimally," he gently slid his hand across his quickly scabbing forearm. "I think I'm fine."

"You want a ride, don't you?"

"Please," he groaned.

Her hand rudely tapped onto her speedboat's side, "Well, come on."

He carefully fell to a wayward strip of the deck to meet her eye level, and his weight made it rock gently. As a potential threat she appeared unimpressive and like any other harmless civilian who would otherwise be a victim to his calculated plundering. Her custard-colored hair was pulled back messily into a wavy and twisted ball, and the wiry tress hanging on the right side of her face wobbled slightly with each and every head movement. At the moment, her eyes were alert-looking and focused, but would appear lethargic otherwise. Her appearance told a story like anyone else's, but not necessarily a story he cared about. What truly mattered was that her odd engine murmured and the coast was simply a few words away.

"Ah, now I have a good look at you. Gee…" the woman lowered her chin. Her black eyebrows raised for a moment. They were massive, solid and flatly pressed—the way they contrasted the lightness of her hair made it even more noticeable. "You look miserable. As sick as a dog."

He felt her eyes burn into his pale complexion and haggard expression as she rolled her gaze over the thin body that his previously clean dress shirt was plastered to.

"'Sick as anybody else who got blown out of a window and landed in a pool of junk," Kuro replied bitterly, slightly altering his voice, and coughed up a phlegmy mix of salt water and saliva into his fist.

"I'm glad that at least somebody here is alive. I'd like to know what happened."

He was hesitant to hold reservations towards a helping hand, but his lack of trust was even greater. Fishing for answers was flaky. Shouldn't there be more sympathy? More soft-hearted nonsense that preceded that impartial curiosity?

He pursed his lips, "You don't need to know the specifics."

"Hm. Alright then," her voice held noticeable disappointment that failed to be masked. "I'll figure it out..."

The mere fact that this woman was haughty enough to think that she could catch onto his entire catastrophe was met with irritation. Who does she think she is? Did it matter at all? There was one shining, golden opportunity beneath it all, and that was the opportunity to never be chased by the Marines, and to never have to coddle his foolish crew again for as long as he lived. Kuro never loved his men, but he loved his decoys, and he loved his incisive mind and its development of the cold willingness to disregard human life. This was the opportunity to not blunder ever again, and he held arrogant faith in his own perfection even when it was chewed out.

"I… Would like some help, though," he gestured to one of his ribs and rubbed on it convincingly. "I'm rather shocked by this entire thing."

"I can bring you to shore. It's the least I can do. I mean, this doesn't really happen every day."

"You have my gratitude."

He lowered his head and fixed his shirt collar which had so annoyingly been stuck to his neck. The small boat sidled towards him, with a touch of hesitance.

"Come on, sit up, in the back here."

"I can get up, thank you," Kuro assured her, moving himself onto the alternative seat and sitting with his back to her to elevate his legs and distance himself. He dared not face this stranger, and didn't feel like engaging in much interaction beyond what was necessary.

"I'll keep it steady for a while until you're comfortable with the speed. If I'm not a complete idiot—which I'm _not, _I assure you_—_I'd think you're used to a ship."

There was clear audacity in her voice, and he wasn't sure whether she was being so supercilious due to being a show-off or to make her passenger relieved. Kuro remained silent, staring at his ship's remains, like broken pieces of himself and all of his schemes. He wasn't decisive on whether this was a liberating visual or one that completely and utterly disturbed him.

"Strange morning," he heard the driver mumble, tapping her thin fingers, rounded and short—her hands made her cylindrical wrists look a tad too small in comparison. She rolled back her shoulders to stretch. It was surely a strange morning for a befuddled mastermind as well. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, watching the small ripples from the engine stream in front of him, leaving its foamy tails to dissipate and cut through the blue. Clouds covered the sunlight and a blanket of shadow was cast over them.

"I appreciate that you offered a seat," the shivering man rubbed some stray water droplets off of his arm. "What's your name?"

The woman turned her head.

"That depends. My last name's Nerz," the stranger pressed lightly on the throttle. "Though people around here usually call me by my first."

"What is it?"

"Nelle," the boater, now apparently Nelle, had a change in voice, and her eyes narrowed from a gust of wind. "Now… _Who _are you?"

He raised his head a bit, "Kurt."

Kuro tasted the name on his tongue. Almost immediately, his eyebrows furrowed after his sudden, impulsive answer and he wanted to gag on it: it was so close to his real name. His instinct generated a story, "Kurt, from the Pierce family, far away from here."

The normally sly man found the slip unbelievable and made the mental excuse that the previous night was still in effect. But there was no going back. As usual, he was a liar, and a notoriously good one who knew how to coax the tone of his voice with a gentle strain of accuracy. His true family wasn't far in actuality, and they didn't lie in another Blue, but right in the East, where Kuro had formed his pirating career for at least a decade.

"Oh, how sad," mumbled Nelle. "But your family should be relieved that you're alright, when the news comes around."

News? News was a terrible word. News was what destroyed him. His techniques were all about secrets, and news that only he could be aware of. News never kept him safe.

The woman rolled her hand over the throttle while her boat sauntered slowly, still occasionally wading through debris, though its numbers were getting low and scattered.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Pierce. The _Pierce _family..." she murmured. "_Don't they make silverware? …_"

A silence followed and he heard the dull tap of her foot as it pushed away a soggy plank. He caught on to light swishing, and quickly realized that it was from her trying to shake a soppy, dark bandana off of her ankle. He saw her mouth curve into a disgusted expression, after she took a few moments to observe its pattern. A cold, tense feeling washed over him.

"You're a… A _pirate_, aren't you?"

No response. Nelle continued, noticeably pushing for one:

"There are some pirating families I've heard about. Your people are quite infamous… Aren't they?"

The ex-captain's eyes rolled. Infamous! Of course, this was the East Blue, and he knew it all too well. Everyone and their mother thought that any pirate was something to talk about.

"You're asking that for affirmation on something you already know, I see," his voice was edged with agitation. "I don't need to tell you anything about that."

"…You're lucky that I'm helping you without any expectations, you know," the boater wore a sour frown. "Oh well. You're the most down-and-out man I've seen in a long while. It could always be worse. You can find a fine job here near the piers. As if you can do anything else," she narrowed her eyes, failing to turn back to look him in his own. "So, what was your duty on that ship? What'd you do on it? Were you important?"

"I was tactical. I assisted the captain in planning. But he's dead now, so I've got no use."

He _was_ dead. That was an aspect that Kuro could willingly celebrate, but his hastiness could be his downfall. If the Marines somehow sniffed out Naishi from the analysis, he would become more vulnerable than he had ever been before: crewless, jobless, and mostly penniless. Somehow, he had to assimilate, and at his core, he would want nothing more. After all, his twisted methods and flawed logic in attempting to tailor the perfect life in Syrup Town was a lost cause that violently escaped him. Villainy became difficult when people stuck their nose where it surely never belonged. Stepping out of his comfort zone was always difficult, as he often created one out of the very social environment that he molded and manipulated. His current situation was precarious and newly born out of a complete disaster, and this was surely unusual.

"Oh. You're really not some layman after all," her fingers drummed on one of the handlebars.

Perhaps this woman was smarter than the average fool. Even so, Kuro clearly had no clue as to what her background was, nor her line of work, and this made him somewhat uncomfortable, and he would be far more at ease after extracting more information.

Nelle's foot pushed away another stray bobbing plank. He watched her scope water for any remaining obstacles, craning her neck from side to side and narrowing her leaden eyes. They were drawn to a black mass that was billowing in the water, and she would soon be approaching it. It was none other than the Black Cat flag that had been blown far astray, and it was floating and bubbling beneath a thin film of foam, away from Kuro's sight. As he looked to his side, he saw his chauffeur's body tense out of the corner of his eye, but he was unknown to the reason.

The woman inhaled. According to the press, Black Cats were a cunning and notoriously sadistic bunch. If this was a learned civilian, it gave him more incentive to become alert, as much as his body was telling him to relax and crumple up onto a mattress, or, quite indiscriminately, on the body of this small boat.

"Let me check your eyes."

With a sharp swivel, the former captain turned to her and responded with defense: "Why?"

"I was just… Wondering if the seawater damaged them any, or if they burned, if it… Even if they don't, you can still run into trouble," Nelle insisted upon it.

"I'm sure I'd know. They burned, but the feeling's mostly disappeared."

A few of Kuro's fingers lightly held his chin. He stared at the way she was eyeing him, the way she suddenly took interest in an examination—it was unusual.

"Well, you were swimming around in water mixed with the of blood of people… That could be _full_ of disease. Don't you think that's a bit…Unhygienic? You know, these parts are known for their sea parasites. You'd get a terrible infection if I don't see to it," her posture elevated. "I have antibacterial drops at home. I want to see if you need them. I, uh… Well, come on. Let me see them."

He didn't expect her to be attempting to milk his uncertainty. However, these so-called 'sea parasites' were about as real as the tall tales that one would find in children's books.

"Alright," Kuro complied, his general indifference masking any sort of critical worry. What could possibly be the harm? "Take a look, then. I hope you're some kind of doctor."

He turned his body around to face her when she stopped the engine, and the boat wiggled a bit at his movement.

She lightly raised his lids. The woman's eyes were suddenly cutting into him, detached from human concern, looking at him like a machine. What she saw were irises that were lead-colored and smoky, holding an immense amount of darkness in the pupils that seemed to go leagues beneath their surfaces. There wasn't a touch of gentle to his visage besides his smoother features, and the shape of his lids made his eyes look narrow and calculating.

His identity was also discernible in the way he moved them about quickly and keenly, like a dangerous animal uncomfortable at having intrusive hands so close to its face.

The boater was to face to face with the beleaguered vessel's Captain, who was lying through his teeth and feigning helplessness. Most civilians would have already read of Kuro of One Hundred Plans once or twice, perhaps even more than that due to the crimes he ran through, and throughout the years he had been active, his plans were mostly executed with deadly precision and cold objectivity. More likely than not, she had read about him, and had seen his dispassionate face in headlines.

"Me? A _doctor_, you said?" a nervous inflection escaped her as she finally replied. "I'm not—no. Heavens, no. Of course not. I'm an inventor… A mechanical engineer," her voice grew quieter with every title. It was as if an imaginary force was clenching her neck. "I know a few… Nautical folks. I've heard of stories of eye infections. Disgusting. … Your eyes, on the other hand, they look fine."

Her own were slightly large for her round and thinnish face, with black little irises like drops of ink in their middles, as equally dark as the eyebrows above them. Along with the rounded bulb of her nose, she looked closest to a ferret or a mink or a weasel. Her body was shaped in such a way that she also behaved the part. Underneath her eyes were subtly sunken lines: a sure indicator of someone who slept little and worked in excess.

"Hm," Kuro gave a tired, indifferent response, resting his chin on his shoulder. "How far away do you live from here?"

"It'll be another ten minutes."

The man distracted himself again by watching the sea foam trail from the boat's engine. "I see. Good news."

"My humble abode is less than a mile from the outer strip of Milltown's port."

"How convenient…"

Though he had found it useful for a less than innocent reason, and images of plunder filled his thoughts: but he had to stop himself. He had lusted after its treasures held within the many ships that came and went, and before the disaster, his prime objective was to raid it and suck it dry of its wealth. But he had nothing now, and it was no use to entertain it so soon.

Minutes and minutes of silence passed. The most eventful things during that lapse were a flock of gulls passing by squawking amongst themselves, and the sun glaring in his eyes.

Then the boater spoke up.

"Mr. Pierce. You don't have anybody you know here, do you?"

"No. No one."

"… There's something you should consider," her head tilted to the side, facing the sun, her expression completely away from view.

He blinked and rubbed one of his eyelids groggily.

"Oh? Do tell."

"I have a hunch, that…" her palm pressed onto one of the handlebars. "You could find a job that has your name all over it."

"What makes you say that?"

"I have no idea," the engineer careened the boat away from a cutting wave. "Other than how you strike me as an intelligent man."

An exploitative twinkle glimmered in this stranger's eye—or, maybe it was just a stray fleck of seawater tricking his eyes.

"A job, already? I don't know about that," Kuro's eyebrows lowered with suspicion.

"Oh, yes—I'm sorry. It's too soon, isn't it?"

"Wait a moment," he lifted his chin. "What are you getting at?"

The boat slowed a bit.

"Well," she hawed. "You see, I've been looking for someone to, uh, _employ_. It's a hot job around here. Trust me on that one."

"Hot?" his lip curved, and he was more perplexed and curious than anything.

"Yes. In demand. Promising. Needed," she listed. "Profitable. Why, it's the whole nine yards, Mr. Pierce!"

"And what exactly is this?" Kuro's voice grew sharp, almost grainy-sounding, contrary to his normally urbane voice.

"It'll require some explanation on my part. I suppose you'd rather hear of it when you're more settled. I'll tell you when we reach my place if you'd like… As long as you stay so agreeable."

"Very well," he muttered, tired resignation overtaking his need to disagree. "I just want a place to rest."

Kuro rested his chin on his knuckles and his dark eyes got lost within the water once again. He hadn't a clue as to where he was going to go and who exactly he was to meet, but he was beyond a state of panic. The peculiar feeling of distress mixed with the prediction of an impending death fled him as soon as the deadening silence of the wreck left him alone.

For whatever reason, his life was to continue.


	6. Tension

**Chapter 5:**

**Tension **

"Here we are—careful," the watchful citizen docked the vehicle beside its makeshift pier while the water lapped near her feet. A peculiar lock was carefully adjusted upon the small boat. He rose out after her, and as his feet left the sand and met the grass, he began to notice his muscles stiffening and aching more than ever. The house before him was plain, and angular, painted with white and grey, with an outside garage having a tan foundation and a tarp stretched overhead to shield it from the rain and wind.

"It's no mansion," admitted Nelle. "But you've made it clear that you want to sleep here, haven't you?"

"That would be preferable, yes. I have nowhere to go otherwise."

His last sentence was said with some sort of strange despondency that unsettled him, a specific sort of hopelessness akin to a planner without a database. Regardless, if this person gave him any trouble, he would have no problem disposing.

"Not too much skin off of my back, Mr. Pierce," his new acquaintance rubbed her neck and pressed her fingers into its sides. "I have an idea for you. It's food for thought, but I'll bet you're more interested in actual food, at this point…" she rustled for a key inside one of her pockets, and he noticed that it lay close to her packet of cigarettes.

Kuro leaned forward with suspicion.

"An idea, eh?" Was it really an idea, or was it a plan? He knew the clear difference between the two. "Do you mind telling me what that's supposed to mean?"

"It can mean plenty of things. None of which endanger you. There's no need to look at me like that. It's… It's unsettling. Not you yourself, not your face or anything, just—never mind."

The former cutthroat ignored the blunt comment and focused on the more cryptic one.

"I'm certainly interested if it involves money."

The mechanic blinked, "It sure does."

What an answer: an answer that didn't help at all. He felt a mixture of suspicion and growing interest at the prospect of money. This woman's claim was questionable as she approached the back door. Meanwhile, Kuro scoped the garage's entirety and eyed the frame of an unusual three-wheeled contraption. Its bizarre engine was a symmetrical mess of metallic tubing with a valve firmly set in its middle, two polished canisters proudly rising upwards on opposite sides. It was something he had never seen anywhere before, and as a result, he barely understood its means. If it was no rounded steam engine, than what could it possibly be? Rolls of labeled blueprints lay in a neat bin beside the stranger's solid metal worktable and a row of porcelain coffee mugs adorned the shelf jutting beneath the tool wall. The garage door opened to the inside with a soft creak. The woman defensively stepped in first. As he followed, his eyes quickly scanned the interior, and he was taken in by its cleanliness.

"My. You keep this place quite organized."

"I can't live without organization," she answered curtly. "Now, please sit in _this _chair. You have… An offensive odor to you. I really don't like this chair," she itched the inside of her ear. "I'm getting rid of it soon."

Kuro shot her an uncomfortable, miffed look. As the inventor was putting her belongings in their rightful and noticeable places, he was observing the nuances of the room and the house in general. It was apparent that he was in the living room, which had a door on each side, both of them closed. The living room met with the kitchen area which rested against the wall and took up the space near the front door. There were two loveseats and another chair, a much better one than the one he had to endure. Nestled towards the back of this living room was a small workspace, with large tomes of non-fiction on its shelves. Stacks of pale paper formed straight columns along the wide desk space. To ensure some sort of connection with the rest of the world, a blue and grey snail-phone rested comfortably on the kitchen counter. He took in the living space with keen eyes. He checked for valuables. To his disappointment, this was indeed no mansion, but rather its antithesis.

"Come to think of it, just use the shower in the guest bedroom. Over there. Now. Please," Nelle brusquely returned to him with a frown and pointed, recoiling at his briny odor.

"Is it actually functional?"

His shoulders relaxed at the thought of clear, clean water.

"Of course it works," her next statement was a huffing mumble that wasn't meant to be heard. _"_Why wouldn't it when _I'm _the one who lives here_?"_

Groaning pipes expelled the frigid water that ran down the bony expanse of his back. Its small floods scurried away in clear and twirling ribbons, stripping away his amalgamate grime of sand and dirt and blood. Despite the its glacial temperature, it was a relief to experience pure water after being on a ship for days and days, where the sweat stuck to himself like tree sap after long hours of perusing deck underneath a glowing hot sun. It was still a shock to him that his galleon would now shrink into a distant remnant of his past that he was all too eager to forget. Piracy had been a chore, but this fiasco was unprecedented and clumsy. Kuro sighed and felt the grease from his pomade disintegrate as he gripped the hair atop his head, pulling back the emerging dark strands away from his eyes. He turned his head to look out of the tiny fiberglass window and saw the inventor pacing back and forth, a cigarette caught between two of her fingers. Smoke puffed hurriedly out of her mouth, and she paused to slouch and cross her arms, tapping her foot against the ruddy clay beneath her and appearing caught in a state of contemplation. She was soon out of sight as she drew away from the view of the window.

His clothes had become mostly dry, and he slipped into them somewhat cozily, returning to his comfort zone, returning to_ his_ things, to _his_ possessions. They were awful, but they were his, and they were all that he currently had. These were things that he held close to him, things that were _his, _things that never changed, and had no interferences from outsiders. He delicately cradled the round glasses in his hand and rocked them against the towel to dry.

Kuro situated himself on the chair again after inspecting the living room and standing on his toes to get a view of the kitchen ahead. As soon as he thought he had seen everything noteworthy, or plainly boring, something interesting caught the his eye, resting on the counter and blanketed by a shadow. It was a massive white binder, bound with a smooth, slippery covering on the outside. A mysterious label marked its tab, centered and clearly written in dark ink:

**_B 00'10_**

Kuro searched his surroundings swiftly for any sign of the engineer's return. He listened for footsteps or the rustling of doorknobs, but heard nothing of the sort. He checked the window behind him: the inventor was still outside, obliviously cleaning her speedboat and assuming him to still be taking care of himself—this bought him enough time to be discreet. Was this enormous, bound paper pile just full of engineering sketches? Were they records of previous drafts and prototypes, or perhaps just a dry book of equations? Something inside of him rejected these seemingly rational assumptions. This tome reeked of importance and he wanted to use every piece of knowledge to his advantage. He took a moment to try and make sense of the number pattern, then placed his longish fingers across its spine and carefully flipped back its cover, and the encased pages, protected by thin sheets of plastic, crackled softly at his touch. Revealed plainly was a plentiful amount of sheets dating back as far as eight years ago, maybe even ten, with a multitude of Beri counted on each as if it were a lottery, with grisly photos squared in their center, and they were all bearing the same bold mark emblazoned on the bottom:

**WANTED**

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened as he flipped through the pages gently and scoured for their dates. There were colored tabs labeled E, W, N, and S. Then there was a burgundy colored "G". The meanings of these labels weren't difficult to decipher. He cleared his throat: E it was. E had to be. He skimmed through a few records of vagabond bandits and city crooks, and the Beri count was getting higher as the section dedicated to higher threats drew nearer. Pirates ahoy.

_The Fishman, Arlong, the tyrant that had reigned over Cocoyashi village for as long as I'd been sailing…_

Another flip of the page.

_The Clown. A joke of a man. Unimportant._

And yet another.

_Krieg. Befitting shot for such an ape. If only he could've just bled out and died back when—_

His thought was broken as he averted his eyes to the following discovery. There were two posters of him. Yellowed and dated, his oldest had a red X in the corner, but his most recent was well-preserved and somewhat new looking. As much as it was predicted, beneath his own stoic face were bones that chilled. He took a deeper breath than usual, and continued, flipping his own image out of his sight after studying it intensively. A muscle in his back grew tense and a sharp pain invaded one of his knees. He cringed and massaged it, and frowned in frustration over the situation. It was a pressing, jarring one, but the haphazard location of such a wellspring of information surprised him.

Perhaps this woman_ was_ a liar—no. He knew it. He was in the seemingly innocent lair of a pirate hunter, just waiting to sharpen her knives around him when he was vulnerable. After Kuro's mind had already spent a miniature eternity festering with rotten ideas, the inventor returned.

"Oh, look at you," she commented halfheartedly, leaning sideways at his cleanlier appearance. "I just want to have a word with you. Something that may radically interest you, even. And when I say that, it means I want a practical discussion before I just let you stretch your legs around my house." She adjusted the pale collar of her shirt. "You keep eying that," Nelle proceeded to take a seat across from him, leaving a good space between them. She handed him a glass of water. "Tell me, did you look through it?"

She sipped casually, looking unfazed at the thought of its intrusion. Kuro's fingers undulated and tapped against the arm of the chair. He was considering lying. However, it was much more rewarding to cripple people with words, and to expose them with their raw faults laid out on the space before him. To relish seeing a person fall to their figurative knees was within his normal behavior if it meant that he snatched away their power. Stripping people of their defenses was molded into something of an art.

He smiled softly at her, hiding his aggression as he brought the glass close to his nose, testing the air around it.

"Quite the little book you've made, just bursting with bounty records local and foreign, Ms. Nerz," he saw her freeze at his undertones. "That's right. I'm no fool. I suspect that you're a bounty hunter looking for another skin," Kuro finished and awaited her reply with a smile that was passively menacing, and if she had any ideas to endanger him, he would catch onto them and crush them in his hand. Beneath his pleasure at his own wit was the truth that he was slightly on edge at his observations, and he felt less than comfortable in a state of weakness.

"Gee, at least you have observational skills." With a white-knuckled hand firmly gripping the glass, his opponent took a quick sip of water. "But you're wrong about the last part—you're very wrong. I wouldn't be caught dead hunting bounties myself! That's a special kind of crazy. Like a captain without a crew," she looked particularly long at him during the last sentence. "Even if I did… _Why_ would I try to turn in a man who… Who…" the woman hesitated and as he watched her mouth pause. Kuro's teeth grated behind his lips. "Who claims that he's dead to the world?"

Dark pupils flashed, sudden anger shattered through the glare. Kuro slowly raised his glass and the water was very close to meeting his lips, but he didn't tear his eyes from hers for a single moment, and they blazed with displeasure.

"_You,_" he seethed. "You're pushing your luck. How very ill-considered."

"Calm down," shuddered the engineer, glued to her seat. Her brows lowered and she looked at him seriously, her posture squaring for an escape. "It's unmistakable… Isn't it? The shadows fall on your face in the exact same way."

His hand which so fervently squeezed the water glass shook.

"You're bravely imbecilic," a troubling hiss defined him. "Such people often deserve to die."

She froze again. His heart raced with apprehension.

"I believe that I don't."

"If you're convinced that I'm Kuro, then you won't live to tell it," he snapped. His word strung out evenly, methodically, strangling the air in front of him. "Who am I? Tell me," he interrogated her as he rose from his seat. "There's a right answer. Who am I?"

Nelle swallowed an invisible lump and she was about to speak, but it was bit back several times.

"Who you are… And who you're not, is… Precisely the reason why I'm interested in letting you stick around."

"… Is that so?" Kuro leaned himself back on the seat slowly, raising his chin to make further eye contact through a puzzled glare. "Very well, _inventor,_" his teeth were bared at the civilian and he met her with derision. "Tell me what you want before I exceed my limit of patience. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm sore. Those are all things to avoid when you're with a pirate, especially one that his killed_ hundreds_ of _people _like _you_."

His last words were emphasized, coarse and forced, like sandpaper rubbing against skin. His glass was upraised and in line with the darkness of her irises, vibrating and wobbling to distort the image of her tense face, her tense body, that which harbored a rapidly beating heart and a nervous mind, like the rest of them, like whoever experienced that unsettling expression of his.

"I—alright. That's just it, here, you…" she paused as the words escaped her and he was left trying to read her eye movements. "I mentioned this before, about a _fine_ job, a _good_ job, a job that actually makes _money_. _…Something that could…" _her murmur became quiet and barely audible as it sunk into her own mutter._ "_With time and money," she projected once more. "And—and skill, of course. It could work, with my sort of entrepreneurship. You're a competent fighter with a bounty like that, aren't you? And I have a few connections of my own—locally."

"And...?" he fingered the rim of his glass.

"Mr. _Pierce_…" Nelle Nerz thrust his own alias upon him. "Would you be interested in hunting bounties?"

Bounty hunting? Were they mad?

He could nearly laugh if his chest didn't ache.

_Bounty_ hunters, the type of government parasites who had proved to be nearly as bothersome as Marines?

He couldn't stand it anymore, nor could he hold such a wildly astonished feeling inside. He did it: he laughed. He laughed quietly, then loudly, with a poisonous, malevolent guffaw that was equally as smooth as it was disquieting.


	7. Charades

***12/21/12:**

**Chapter 6 **has been edited.

~Swaben

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

**Charades**

"Would you mind letting me in on the joke, Mr. Pierce?," the inventor looked unsettled and leaned sideways with narrowed lids, the fingers resting on her face holding back noticeable impatience and unease.

"Oh, yes. Everything," he grinned with a brewing chuckle. Kuro leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair and his fingers curled in amusement towards his chin. "In fact, I have a very difficult time believing what I'm hearing."

"Surprising. I thought a man like you would at least consider it."

"Are you kidding me? Do you have any prior experience whatsoever?"

"Let's see," she glanced at her fingernails for a moment. "I have experience in more forms of applied mathematics than most people can even think of, and by outsider's opinions I'm resourceful, analytical, and painfully organized. I can find discrepancies in patterns and can make just about anything—within reason—out of a pile of junk. I earned my certification of mechanical…"

"Yes, yes, I understand," he pressed his fingers to his temple from his morning aches. "Can you fight? Can you ensure me that you're a good employer? … No, wait a moment. You're mad_. _You're_ insane_," he cracked a complacent smile. "That's absolutely ridiculous."

"I'll bet my entire house that you're worse," she retorted. Her knuckles were still bone-white from the way she was tightly gripping her glass.

"That's not a lot to bet."

What a contrast to Kaya's estate! It was dismal and uninteresting aside from that somewhat enigmatic worktable.

"Since when has anything improved by not challenging territory you've never had the opportunity to cross before?"

Kuro made a pleased, hiccuping sort of motion at the inquiry.

"Ah, that may be true, but I'm afraid that you're missing my point. There's a very likely chance that you're withholding me from any further hospitality on purpose, just so I'd be more willing to comply to this daft idea of yours. Isn't that right?"

Nelle cleared her throat and changed the subject after fussing with the watch that wrapped around her left wrist.

"The sources say you're a deadly intelligent man. I believed it, from the moment we said more than that typical blather. This isn't… It isn't solely about me. Anyone knows that focusing on your own goals while trying to convince another is hardly professional. I'll be frank with you," she rubbed her hands together and squeezed on her fingers out of a nervous tic, and pointed them towards him subtly. "Surely you know what this could mean. What better way to avoid detection than to become the very thing that you_ weren't_?"

Kuro looked down and licked his lower lip for a moment in thought.

"I'll give you five minutes to explain to me why this is my best option… And I could spare you if it's worth it," he felt his own confidence gleam through his eyes, and they moved in such a way that he mastered, a way that would charm people regardless of what he was saying.

However, Nelle Nerz was unmoved. Rarely did he have experience with anybody avoiding the snares of his calculated charisma without avoidance being a clear part of their personality, and he was quickly catching on to the prickly interior behind her cordial and businesslike mask that originally manifested.

"_Spare _me? What's this talk of killing when I clearly don't want to touch your bounty, nor do I find a purpose in doing so when you may be pegged as _dead_? That's just not economical, you know," she drew back incredulously, and didn't seem to absorb the gravity of his threat. "Something as intricate as this can't possibly be explained in five minutes. There's far too much to cover, and—"

"Would you like to never speak again? I'm awfully good at hiding bodies, Ms. Nerz," Kuro's lips curved into a nasty, morbid smile.

Speedily and stiffly, Nelle retracted into her seat, and gripped the arm of the chair as if it were her only tether to her life.

"Well—ahem," she avoided eye contact and stared deep into the watery pool in her glass. "Please, let's act civilized about this, alright?"

"I'm all about civility," the former captain swirled one of his digits around the stalk of the glass in his hand. "It doesn't mean that I believe in being sincere to a person who's so obviously looking to exploit my talents." He set it down and pressed his spindly fingers together into a sinister pyramid, leaning them forward, while they shook slightly from a mixture of shock, irritation, and a lack of the day's nutrition.

"Fair enough, Mr. Pierce."

What crushing, disgusting honesty. Couldn't she learn to lie? Couldn't this woman even try to fake sincerity?

"You're wasting your time."

"We're really going to measure time with that imprecision? That's some real nonsense. I have an idea. You can use my timer. The rules are that I've got five minutes, and you simply listen to me without moving around at all or trying anything funny. Do you agree to that?"

"Must I?"

"Yes, I think... My house isn't some brigand's playground," her upper teeth were revealed in a display of firm flippancy, brought about by her masking of her own crippling fear.

This was a game with simple rules to be twisted: a brain teaser at his own expense.

The timer was set, and he watched and waited, grinning to himself with a smug expression. He could hear her take a deep breath.

"Facts are a lot more convincing than just my words," she disappeared into the garage and quickly returned. "I'd like to you to draw opinions from my voice rather than looking at me. So, I'm behind you. It's a... Well-known tactic of convincing. ... Are you a fan of money?"

He sighed at the thought of Beri, of gold, and of tangible luxuries that were still so far out of his reach.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"_Exactly_."

He felt a flexible zip tie bind around his first wrist tentatively. Nonetheless, Kuro abode to the rules, and heard her breathing shake. He did nothing while his left wrist was restrained to his right.

His interviewer cleared her throat again.

"Good things come to those who wait," she walked in front of him and gently set the second cable tie to bind both of his wrists together, looking him the eyes. "Do you agree with that?" She pulled its line to thread through the other.

The timer reduced to 3:45 minutes.

"Certainly, If the waiting is in the equation. Waiting in hope of something that may not happen is a fool's line of work. Oh_,_ would you look at that—you've only got a minute left."

Despite the dwindling time, Nelle reclined calmly on the seat in front of him. He appeared visibly disadvantaged compared to someone with free hands.

"So, Mr. Pierce. Now that you've made me comfortable, I'll tell you why this isn't entirely selfish of me," Nelle played with her fingers again, threading and pushing them through each other. This was a motion he quickly caught onto: she was nervous. "To me, you're a man who's severely down on your luck. You can't lie to me about how earth shattering this was for you. To be completely honest, I felt somewhat bad for you—who wouldn't? You turning out to be such a bloodthirsty devil only counters that with fear," the descriptive title escaped low, and Kuro was thoroughly chafed by her nerve, and her numb indifference in addressing him. She pressed on. "This feeling, I don't exactly enjoy it… It's only natural human defense—it's what sets the survivors apart from the victims."

The ex-captain paused to contemplate through squinted eyelids, and decided to continue listening. She dissected the situation as it were a machine rather than an enigmatic volley between two separate souls. He figured that it was expected out of somebody who spent so much time researching and developing inorganic machinations and, from what it appeared, turning the wheel of the business single-handedly. There was something clever yet very socially confused about the inventor's thinking, and her entrepreneurial stance tainted any chance of emotional persuasion, but rather influenced a coaxing of the mind.

"You've no doubt got skill, and… I feel that it should be put to use in a way that would benefit you. There are plenty of criminals around here who need to be brought down, which to you and I, and anyone else, translates to money—among, among other things—and money translates to freedom. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"No correction needed," he saw her expression lighten up at his statement until he furthered his point. "Quite plainly because it isn't a matter of you being _wrong_… This entire thing is a matter of whether or not you offer the very best opportunity for a man like myself."

His self-satisfied air practically engulfed the surroundings.

"Can one really judge that before testing the waters? I can promise you nothing but what you're willing to sacrifice. Am I not making a sacrifice right now in hopes of bigger and better things? Why am I not just trying to turn you in, and postulate to them that you're still alive? Are you really going to take such blind confidence in your own refusal without ever knowing what seeds of opportunity could be planted here? … Now, and never again?"

He lifted his chin at her, and was about to formulate a response.

"... The chance for… The _gold_ I could hand you to remain a far-off fantasy, and destroy both of our chances of success in this wor—"

_**Ding!**_

She smacked the bulb of the timer with an irritated expression, and she became silenced along with it. Her face paled, but she attempted to hide it.

"That's enough. Quit needlessly injecting your words. You're speaking to an expert in the matter," Kuro's gaze raised in dismissal while his fingers wiggled impatiently. "You're out of time."

"I can hope for the best," she paused after inhaling deeply. "But I see you're hog-tied at the wrists. Very rude of me," she stood to look down at them. "I think you can give my words more attention when you're restrained by zips made of a highly resilient and quite tenacious sort of polyamide. That abrasion resistance can make you think twice of trying to weasel your way out of them with seriously knowing what you're doing, Mr. Pierce..."

And so after giving him a darkly threatening implication, Nelle went on with the technobabble until Kuro's brows turned inwards into a disinterested furrow. Then, his expression changed, and slowly creeping along his lips was a self-aggrandizing sort of smirk. He knew something that she didn't, and the monotonously explained details of the nylon zip ties were negligible.

"I apologize. My little explanation of how futile it is to try to break those may have bored you," the inventor clasped her hands together and rested them on the small table between them. "But I'm glad that I made more time to explain..."

As she continued, Kuro managed to raise and slowly bring his bound hands to his front rather than his back.

"...Now, I know that this was sudden for you, but I'd like to tell you a little something about my economic state..."

He furtively attempted to judge the available space between him and any other objects.

"...And you see, such a field of ingenuity is rarely appreciated in a place like Milltown, where..."

He expanded his lungs and focused on her distractions, the movements of her eyes, and her current preoccupation with her own lecture.

"...make barely anything, despite the apprenticeship I poured my money and my dreams into, so that's exactly why..."

After a flash of movement, a resonant, distinct pop sounded.

It happened in an instant.

The zip ties were strewn on the floor and his wrists were streaked with brilliant pinks. The man got up with such malevolent nonchalance that it took away the inventor's will to speak any further. Nelle Nerz was dumbfounded. Any guise of calmness and professionalism was broken as her jaw swung downwards like a trap door.

"_What_... How in the... Where did you even_ learn_..."

Pirating experience heralded the invaluable skill to slip, snap, tear, or untie his way out of an array of common restraints. He had waited for the opportunity to alarm her, and the reaction couldn't have been sweeter or more amusing. Kuro cracked his neck from side to side and wore a grin of cruel amusement, his hands free and flexing their thin fingers.

"It was an admirable effort. It was just so improvised_,_" he sauntered forward with the slow and stalking gait of a predatory cat. "Especially when it's me that you're dealing with."

Nelle said nothing. The cat got her tongue and was twisting it in his grip.

"How afraid are you right now?"

During his casual inquiry his shadow met hers and his neck arched.

"It, uh, it—It would really ruin my mystery if I told you."

"Oh, trust me. Your mystery's out the window."

Nelle took a step to the side and his eyes followed her movement. She sidled herself towards the lower drawer of a cabinet and pulled out something curious: a small flintlock revolver. He noticed that her hands began to clench as he turned.

"Get back. I'm warning you. Don't give me that sort of look," she clenched with her aim square at his forehead.

"You want me as a business partner, and now you threaten to shoot me?," Kuro replied, discomfited and subduing his voice. He leaned against the kitchen counter.

"I see that sort of gleam in your eye. It's the look of someone who knows all too well what he's capable of doing," Nelle didn't tear her focus off of him. "I don't want to shoot. I'd like to think we could negotiate, but... You're making me…"

"No need to be rude," Kuro chided with undertones of amusement.

"Don't turn this into something either of us regret!"

A blink. A second. A light smack of the inventor's wrist, and the gun was sent flying out of her hands and into his.

"Fixed it."

Nelle was stunned, and awed at the speed of his reflex. Her pupils expanded to an owlish capacity, and it took a few seconds for her to realize what had just occurred.

The former pirate set the flintlock on the counter after inspecting it for a few moments.

"Now… Trust is a curious thing. A prudent man never actually trusts _anyone," _his eyebrow rose. "So, is there anything else you'd like to convince me of before I make up my mind?"

"I, uh, I doubt you have any formal identification, so if I just happened to shoot you, then there would be no way for me to ever be put in court…," the Milltown civilian attempted to recoil, but was evidently cornered. "Damn it, I'm giving you an opportunity! A chance at another _living_," her voice was fluctuating lightly beneath her breath despite her adamant glance. He knew that fear was close by and lingering all around her. "I'm true to my word. It's about a job that I previously couldn't get. One that could promise you security as long as you to heed to the law. One that would promise me more resources for my private funds,_ my_ inventions, ones that could someday change the world. My _life_," she pointed to the work desk with a wavering frown. "It's not what I expected it to ever be. I saw myself farther, but I'm not _there_. I'm stuck. No one wants engineers here. They want shipwrights," Nelle's brow tightened and pain fleetingly painted her expression. "This job is a legal one. The government can't get enough of it. It's one that it wants on its side, that it _needs,_ even. I could employ you under my name," she pointed to herself and her collared shirt, striped blue and grey and mundane. "There are entire populations of criminals below your standard running amok. Don't you see it? How much it's all worth? How much _you're_ worth in comparison?," the inventor treated him as though he was a chaotic weapon, and perhaps this was true. "Don't kill me here. I don't want to die. I, I..." she appeared as if she were repressing a regretful sigh at how much was divulged. "I don't see what could come of it."

"Kill you? I've learned more about you in that minute of fear than I ever would otherwise. It's clear that you have a standard of high risk and reward. You aren't the only one dissatisfied with their current situation, or feeling as though they've been floundering in the dark to their true desires," his eyes narrowed and there was a sense of sudden embitterment beneath them. "There are people who submit to their own discomfort, and there are those who fight it by whatever means possible. It's simply ambition," he blandished her. "Why would I do such a thing when you've put something interesting on my plate?"

"You better not be bluffing."

To this Kuro chuckled darkly, quietly.

"Oh, I don't _bluff_," he quickly seized her wrists before she could draw them away while he concocted his own orotund grin. His composed eyelids lowered while his moon-white teeth clenched, like a panther bearing his fangs through a devilish smile. "Bluffing implies a clumsy attempt at improvising. I lie intelligently."

The action startled the engineer: her gaze was frozen in place, accompanied by the appearance of clammy bumps forming on her skin.

"But you need not worry right now," he released her stiff wrists with a deceptively civil smile. He turned one of her hands over and traced his finger along her palm as if he were stroking a mouse. The opposite sex tended to enjoy this and there were few problems he had in the area of persuasion by seduction: it was simply another form of manipulative fraud aided by a fanciable appearance. The inventor's presumably dexterous hand was peppered with a faint residue of soot that appeared as though it failed to wash off. Faded, grey marks were visible in areas past her fingertips. She frowned quizzically at the gesture instead, perplexity held in her glance, and responded with a curt shooing motion of her other hand.

"I'll be very truthful. Killing you wouldn't benefit me at all. Instilling too much fear would also be all too pointless. You play some lucrative cards, Ms. Nerz," he drew away, hands behind his back. "Are you a gambler, by any chance?"

"No," she commented offhandedly as she flexed her hand. She casually wiped it with the other as if to be rid of whatever contact reached it. "I don't have the time for that sort of wastefulness. I'm no gambler. Far from it, and that should comfort you."

"You've certainly spoken like one," Kuro continued to saunter. "I'm tickled by the deal. It's true. It's completely opportunistic and acquisitive," the former captain swung himself to the side. "Those two things go together like the smoothness of ink in water. _Brilliant…"_ the words streamed out like a ring of smoke forcing itself through a strainer. "Becoming exactly what those government dogs would never expect. You're very much in luck. Give me a night to think about it, or, perhaps, a day or two."

"Oh? And what about a guarantee? That's what I want. What about the fact that you may still kill me afterwards? I'm no fool," Nelle grated through her teeth with squinted eyes. "I've got a lot to live for. You can just walk away and pretend that this never happened. I've got people who love me, and people whom I owe my services to."

"Who do you take me for in a time of opportunity? A rampaging fool?," the tone of his voice tactfully shifted to become softer and smoother. "I'm a man who enjoys thinking. I'm also a man who naturally needs adjustment. We'll keep that between you and I."

"That never answered my question."

"What a narrow view you have of pirates…" he lowered his head with a wry, budding smile, and their gazes were grey against gray, flat against flat. "Though I must admit that I have one as well."

His type of narrow was very different from hers. Pirates were tools to be used, pawns to push and pull across the proverbial chessboard, and bodies to throw away after their use was fulfilled. They were outcasts of society, unfit for assimilation in anywhere but crime, and it was the only place that most of them had left to retreat to. He took advantage of this similar to a prowling lion who visits a watering hole. It would wet its teeth at the sight of how the herds of gazelle gather in such an easily accessible place. It would inconspicuously make its rounds, rolling its shoulders and readying its tactic: closer, and closer, until there was no foreseeable escape. Captain Kuro wrangled his pawns with false words and aggressive opportunity to bring their criminal urges to reality, but somehow, he made a separation between his form of wicked and theirs. He had put himself high above them, thinking himself to be deserving of success while they could crawl among the dirt like a swarm of insects. It was grandiose and entirely irrational: a putrid view that threatened his own sense of self. It alienated him beyond belief, and he had grown all too used to his own shallow fabrications. In this respect, he was truly the most wicked of them all, and far more damnable than the most incompetent of his crewmen.

A few feet and a long pause separated them.

He crossed his arms after his conclusion was well-formed. He wanted to relax, to lay low, to feel normal. He wanted somewhere warm to sleep. A roof over his head until he gained a luxurious one. Water to drink, and food to eat, and at least some promise of money after he regained his strength and sanity. It was all or nothing.

"You said you wanted an answer. It appears that my choices are limited, and my other plans reckless and tiring," Kuro admitted with surprising honesty. "I'll take it. It's fairly sensible."

Nelle Nerz was surprisingly calm as the tension had dissipated. They completed the obligatory handshake and stepped aside.

"Tell me when the money is close and nipping, Ms. Nerz, and ..."

There was a sudden pause in his trail of the thought. The inventor had formed a self-praising smile of victory as she busied herself with satiating her appetite at the counter.

But her happiness didn't matter to him: Kuro was slowly leaning himself to the side like a teetering bridge, mouth longingly parted while his gut begged.

"... And give me some of that toast."


	8. An Adjustment

***12/19/12:  
**

**Chapter 7 **has been edited.

~Swaben

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

**An Adjustment**

He scarfed down the assorted breakfast food that the engineer begrudgingly offered him like an absolute savage, and he felt his own emaciation through his stomach. The result left a mess of crumbs on the plate and on himself that would make someone think twice about his finer tastes. This was a component of being a pirate—eat everything, eat it messily, and eat it quickly. Eating it loudly was optional.

"Water," he hissed imperiously through a mouth stuffed with an entire piece of toast.

He didn't like devouring things sloppily, especially in front of others; he considered himself a man of high class far above the rabble of the common pirate. But the irresistible sights and smells of the food before him after enduring days of scanty meals at sea made him buckle over and become an animal, and he could see the disgusted amusement that the woman wore as he did so. After all, he nearly embarrassingly choked on that damned piece of toast, and heavens forbid if he actually had to stumble around like an idiot trying to relieve himself of that humiliation.

The first day was something of an unbelievable transition—something that struck Kuro fast, and hard, and unexpectedly: the metamorphosis, in one morning, from being a pirate captain with grizzly aspirations and a burning lust for treasures and the blood of those he robbed it from, to feigning himself as an ordinary Milltown citizen, and simultaneously becoming the coworker and employee of a bullheadedly adamant inventor with less than stellar experience in combat. It wasn't foreign for him to wear another persona. He had plenty, his previous being the mild-mannered and uppity butler, Klahadore, of that grand estate in Syrup Village, with its winding staircases, its magnificent library, its gold-plated pillars and luxurious baths, its spotless, glossy tiled floors, and one breathtakingly huge chandelier that you could see hundreds of your own tiny reflections in… Yes, such frivolities were what a man could die for—and he would always make sure that the blood be cleaned up promptly.

Many hours of that first day were spent lying across a velvety black couch, sleeping, or caught between the limbo of being asleep and awake. He opened his eyes occasionally to snoop into the inventor's business and extract information from her movements and the way she talked to whomever on that snail phone. Most of the instances had her waving her left hand around in a frustrated gesture, attempting fruitlessly to explain the mechanisms and machinations of her improvements to her client. Sometimes they would come knocking at her door, then she would slip into her mysterious bedroom and pull out something handy to give them, in exchange for a modest amount of Beri. This was usually followed by her returning to her desk, and her head making a resounding thud on its mahogany surface, either out of resignation or repeated disappointment. He quickly realized that she was a device fixer who worked from home, and she got requests ranging from the mundane to the ridiculous.

He also caught bits of a telephone conversation.

Something about a new bar opening.

Something having to do with Nelle's brother. Nelle's brother speaking, Nelle's brother complaining, Nelle's brother laughing with a hyena-ish laugh that was probably contagious to most people, but not to Kuro. The speaker's sounds were friendly, intense, and high-energy, highly contrast to his sister's subdued legato.

Then the droning voice of the inventor mixing with the bold yet filtered voice of her sibling from the other line nodded him off once more.

It was evening when he woke up again. Vibrant oranges and pinks streaked the sky outside, but were mostly masked by the velvety strokes of mauve and grey formed by the clouds and the descending night. He rose and adjusted his collar. At the mention of going to this new bar to appease this brother of hers, the inventor promised better food, and booze—but she explicitly stated that he had to pay for his poison.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Smoothing a few fingers through his gel-less hair, Kuro frowned lightly at how some strands decided to spring out and not stay where they were supposed to. The slick verdant luster that was normally present was gone, and he was unsure if he could find his pomade in a place like Milltown.

Was there anything about regular people that didn't bother him? Certainly. They were entertaining. They were caring. They looked out for their own. They fell in love. They actually cried at things. They could be honest to the very core. Was he one of those people? He was doubtful. Such a thought could have made him sad, but he chose to brush it off like the dust on his shirt.

"Are you feeling alright enough?," asked Nelle while fiddling with a cardigan.

"Fine enough to start people watching."

Milltown was a calming sight in the evening. There were lanes of tall, blue lamp-posts lining the streets, with their round orbs of yellowish light illuminating the cobblestone roads. After a short walk past scattered homes with square windows, they had come to a main strip where there were a few small, homey restaurants and diners mixed with family-owned shops and trades. It was a compact town that contributed equally to locals and to those who came and went at the port. Kuro could turn and see the hint of the sea that bordered the wharf, and the silhouettes of the various boats that were docked. He had to squint to really figure out if any of them belonged to pirates, but such observations were for the following days.

It was strange to treat himself as a citizen here. He would normally be sitting in his ship, reading, and waiting for his gaggle of idiots to return with conned money and precious goods, or slipping through alleys to threaten the lowly city thugs out of their money, lest they pay with their life. He vaguely remembered the tackle shop from years ago, but he found himself looking hard for a gentleman's store. His clothes were wrinkled and he could still pick up a briny smell on them.

As he walked down the sidewalk and fingered the very few amount of coins that he had in his pocket from searching that crew member in the wreck, he got some sort of idea about Milltown's populace. It was night time, so he assumed the more mild-mannered and elderly were cozied away at home. He passed some couples happily strolling along, some straggling merchants and folks from the port tending to their work spaces, and well-to-do kids that were keeping to themselves. And, if he looked carefully, he saw that there were some interestingly discreet loners skulking about.

The new bar had an attractive neon sign flickering for all to see, its various loops and swirls forming _Lucian's__**.**_ A bright-haired man of average stature and toned build briskly greeted the inventor and he talked quickly to her, making fast congratulations about her new-found coworker. He spoke excitedly about how her bounty hunting plan was actually in fruition, and shot curious glances at Kuro unashamedly.

"Hi. I'm Neil—her brother. 'Pleasure to meet you, sir," the young man briskly held out his blocky hand, attached to a thinner wrist, to shake.

"As with you," Kuro replied, gripping his hand tightly and forcefully. This Neil fellow had a charismatic, angular face, with short, bright yellowish hair in a prickly, wispy cut most resembling that of a fitness trainer's.

"Your name?"

"Kurt."

"Your kingdom? Er, you know what I mean."

"What?" He looked at him perplexedly.

"Last name?"

"Kurt Pierce."

"Kurt of Pierce, very nice," he jostled his arm with a playful expression. "Neil of Nerz here, try to wrap your tongue around that one. What's your favorite drink?"

"Sake. Preferably aged."

"Oh. I've never been a fan. Brandy's quite dandy, don't you think?"

"I suppose."

"I normally prefer to party and ask questions later, but Nelle's told me some things about you."

The ball in Kuro's throat hardened. What things? Had she really ratted him out so soon?

"Really? Care to tell?"

"Yeah! I… Heard that you're quite the experienced fighter. Perfect for the sort of slot Nelle was looking for."

"Yes, that's true," Kuro rubbed his fingernails together.

"I'm very sorry about what happened to you this morning. News got out that the Black Cats got in a few merchant ship-raids last night and then were just blasted by the Marines this morning. I guess that's an odd form of revenge, right?"

"Oh, yes. It was awful," the former Black Captain felt his spine shiver in distaste at the irony, and his eyes softened convincingly as he prepared an elaborate, heart-wrenching lie. "Terrible, I… I lost many of my friends. I lost all of my money. Lowly, filthy bastards. They're an absolutely despicable bunch, those damned pirates. I hope you don't mind, but I'd rather not talk any further about this."

"That's fine. It was awfully rude of me to bring it up so suddenly. So—I swear, I can redeem myself," Neil's blue eyes searched around for words. "You can have some drinks on me, alright?" He began to rummage through his pocket.

"No, no, I'm fine," Kuro waved his hand.

"'You _sure?" _The young man looked surprised, as if a gentleman rejecting the need to party and forget on such a nice evening was a crime.

"Yes. I don't want anything."

"Suit yourself. 'Nice to meetcha." He bid the conversation adieu and walked ahead of him, snaking his way to the entrance of the bar.

It didn't take long for them to get seated. The menu had typical choices common to places serving each and every sort of alcohol under the sun, but his appetite had failed him. Kuro submitted to ordering a simple glass of water, and craned his neck to observe the civilians and travelers streaming in and out. The shadier characters were keeping to their own, with slippery movements and fluid gestures.

Another young man joined them at the table, and he seemed somewhat out of breath.

"Sorry I'm late," the slightly bulky, rusty-haired stranger puffed quickly. "I'm here."

"Glad you could make it." Neil passed him a glass.

"I was working overtime at the Shack. There's always a demand for food around here."

"This is Andy."

"_Andrew _Harlow," the brunet corrected after flagging down a waitress and ordering a dish.

"Call him Andy."

Minutes passed as they waited to quench their thirst. It was only a matter of time before someone attempted to amuse themselves.

"Andy."

"What?"

"There's a pretty girl."

"Okay?"

"There's another one," Neil pointed.

"I'm eating," the young, husky cook replied curtly.

"Take your time. I'm helping you out."

"I'm trying to figure out what these noodles are made of, and …" Andy let out a despondent sigh. "You're not helping me, because I'm helpless at getting dates anyway," the ruddy-haired young man murmured into his dish.

"I am so helping you. Girls try to pass at me and I just don't care. It's all about _you_. Get out there and show them your mating dance," the blond snorted jokingly.

"_Mating dance_, really?"

"Girls love that. Well, not all of them. Er, not many of them, actually."

Kuro sat back watching their little banters, feeling incredibly harmless for once as he mixed in with these innocuous folks. They were innocent exchanges that barely had anything to do with a grand scheme that he currently was itching to concoct.

"Oh, right," Neil turned and tapped Andy's plate. "Speaking of a girl, why hasn't your sister come along?"

"Oh? Jade?" Andy chewed through a mouthful. "Studying. As always."

"Jeez. Working hard for that pediatrician job, isn't she?"

He looked at Neil and scratched the few sparse, rusty-colored sprigs of hair on his chin. "Yeah. She likes it. She loves kids. She's still young but I think she'll do fine once she finds a good mentor," he moved his fork around the plate.

"Good going, uh… Isn't her birthday coming up soon?"

Andy shrugged. "She's turning 18 in a few months. Dad's encouraging her to go off and find somewhere to train."

"Little squirt," Neil grinned cheekily. "I'm proud of her."

Nelle didn't talk much aside from idle complaints about her job, and put forth minimal effort to talk about her studies. There were moments where Kuro would block out each of their voices and get caught in his own bout of thinking, even though the younger man across from him kept gabbing away at his colleagues incessantly and providing to be a distraction.

Neil touched the waitress's shoulder for a moment and turned to address her. "I'll always stay, for the _par-tay_," he rhymed and shook the bottle of champagne she handed him. "Watch out!"

"Don't get that near my face," Nelle raised a hand at her sibling.

"I'm not—"

"Don't."

The cork popped and Neil caught the fountain of foam on his plate, cheering through closed eyelids.

"Bear with me. Neil is younger and less seasoned than I. He lives in a dorm complex with scores of other reckless recruits," Nelle moved her eyes toward him while she talked into her glass.

"I'm not surprised," mumbled Kuro. He assumed that Neil and his friend were around the same age, perhaps a little shy of a decade younger than him. Budding early-twenty-somethings with a more carefree outlook of the world.

Nelle coughed and paid him some attention. "I apologize. This really has nothing to do with what needs to be done."

"I have to get used to this place sooner or later."

"Yes. A good way to look at it."

The clock whirled and an hour or two went by, along with a herd of empty glasses encircling Neil.

"Kurt, I am just… I'm so sorry," Neil moved his head slowly and his voice dipped and cracked, while his hand was on Kuro's shoulder in an attempt to be apologetic. "This is an _awful _first impression of me, but… Ahah, I'm sorry. Lucian's just opened, and I'm excited, and everyone's excited, and… Are… Are _you_ excited?" His friendliness was apparent, but it didn't change the fact that he was getting on his nerves with his slurred rambling.

"You could say that." His black eyebrows twitched while he slouched forward in his seat with annoyance, not even taking the time to look the younger man in the eye.

"Mm. Good. That's good then. Great stuff. You know, I, I work… Or, I _go_ to the Marine academy not too far away from here. It's good to get away from the, uh, the discipline. 'Know what I mean?"

Kuro nearly choked on his drink, and the water gargled in his mouth to produce an unappealing noise.

_Marines? _

"Whoa, whoa, 'you alright?"

He coughed and nodded silently at the Marine, looking clearly angry.

"You know, ha ha, our parents, they wanted some consistency with our names, right?" Neil stretched and turned his head towards the ceiling.

"Uh-_huh_…" Kuro tolerated, pursing his lips and slowly ripping up the soggy napkin in front of him.

"I think, well, they originally thought they were having a boy, so technically…" He paused to hiccup and catch his breath. "So technically, Nelle is Neil, and I'm… _I'm _Neil..." the man nearly confused himself as he pressed his hand into chest, pointing to himself. "Nelle was supposed to be Neil. The whole female thing changed that. _Duh_."

"_Oh_," Kuro pushed his glass aside. He was uninterested in his other drunken tirade, and already had his mind set on bunking in the inventor's house.

Once the bar got rowdier and the clanging of glasses was practically buzzing inside of their ears, the inventor prompted to leave as soon as possible, with the assertion that there were plenty of files to go through the next morning. Kuro could use a few days of rest and recovery, but he was also yearning for money, and would stop at nothing to get it if it meant hunting down some names and faces. They bid some hasty farewells, with Neil waving boisterously and complimenting his false background with dimmed reflexes, and Andy moving his hand meekly in a goodbye.

"I've told you before that I have connections," Nelle said as she hung her coat near the front door. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow's another day." The woman sighed tiredly, and sat at her desk, turning on its lamp, and resting her elbows on a massive book. "If you treat me and any other civilian with respect, I assure you that my management will be something you want to hold onto. My landlord's an interesting man. He's got leverage. He's got the type of leverage that's helpful."

"I anticipate the results," Kuro eyed the spare room. "Thank you for the hospitality."

"Uh-huh," the inventor responded distractedly, and showed no signs of sleeping soon as she cracked open the book and tore out paper after paper from a ledger.

Kuro closed the door, locking it, and situated himself into the springy bed fit for one. He stared aimlessly at the shadows that painted themselves across the ceiling as the white fan lazily spun above him. The window behind him was large and he could see the water lapping up against the rocks near the coast. A few silhouettes of unknown animals appeared and disappeared in the distance, only to leap out of his interest moments later.

He sat up with genuine wonder as to what the next few days would bring. Within his hands he currently held all of the time in the world to think of his next elaborate plan, and of the pathetic lot that he would have to trace for their bounties and for his own personal freedom. Everything was both a waiting game and a well of opportunity.

He clutched onto order and predictability like the cycle of the tides, and throughout his years, he was all too used to it.


	9. A Wise Man Remains Polite

**Chapter 8:**

**A Wise Man Remains Polite**

Milltown's morning was painted with soft pastels, and the sun's light shone meekly through the guest bedroom's rectangular, fiberglass window. He slept away yesterday's events and its multitude of stressors. The pale light bothered open his eyes, and he was slightly disturbed by the soft growl of the waves outside. His dreams had been full of unsavory images of raids from the past weeks, unearthed and nostalgic memories of his childhood long abandoned, and flashing, roaring sights and sounds from the previous morning. He languidly rolled over, gave a strained yawn, and scratched his shoulder, then rested his chin on the grainy pillow to peer through the window at the calm and mostly quiet world outside. Kuro could hardly believe that he was in a position which reduced him to an aching, groggy everyman who confined himself behind a shut door, surrounded by simple belongings of meager amount that weren't even his.

He slouched and slunk forward to the bathroom's mirror, making use of the bitter mouthwash and other hygiene products that were hidden below the small sink. It was obvious that this room was more fit for a male than for the inventor, as its small cabinet was still stocked lightly with scentless shaving cream and musky, expired deodorant, along with some suspicious anti-itch ointments. He assumed that the quirky airhead he met last night, Neil, must have claimed this room as his own.

Muted clanging and grinding noises interrupted his brushing and he bristled at his own reflection. After a montage of critically inspecting his face, he made his way to the living room to investigate its whereabouts. There were questions unanswered, and still ambiguous motivations. He was quite curious about the bothersome sounds that were roaming outside of the white door facing the back of the living room: the very same white door that he originally entered from without a clue as to what opportunity may have been inside of it.

To his surprise, a bright sticky-note was centered on this garage door, with condensed, angular handwriting in blue ink:

_**Working. **_

_**Do not disturb.**_

Was that bold underline supposed to be scary? Was it really that much of a must? From his many years at sea, Kuro learned that there was nowhere that a powerful pirate couldn't step if he so pleased. What could the woman possibly do to him? She already failed miserably at shooting him, and had the body type of a harmless weasel with blunt fangs.

As he opened the garage door, he was greeted with the screaming noise of metal being grated against, and the buzzing shriek of a welding apparatus that looked entirely foreign to him. A blooming, burning purplish light pierced his eyes from afar while thin smoke swarmed the area, and it was being trapped inside by the tarp walls that were pulled down from the previously open garage's roof. He started to cough violently into his shoulder, and backed away cautiously, shielding his eyes with his palm.

"Get out! Get _out_ of here! Are you looking to kill yourself?" the engineer muffled ferociously beneath the welder's mask that adorned her face like a cumbersome tribal guise. Two impatient eyes glared at him through its tinted lens shade. Unable to take a breath, she shooed him aggressively with her thickly gloved hand. Her composure had been lost in comparison to her previous demeanor that he was already growing used to.

His experience with mechanics was scant—there was never a necessity for them, and his past shipwright had been so diligent as to handle the work. Maybe it was for the better, since the only one he'd met was turning out to be an irritable shut-in.

The inventor hardly looked human when shrouded by a heavy leather apron and layered with protective gear, and would more resemble a member of some bizarre civilization from another planet. He closed the door on himself quickly, and grimaced while pacing towards the kitchen to figuratively destroy her refrigerator. A span of minutes later, the door opened, exposing much more light than before, and a hand covered with a rubbery glove motioned to him.

"I told you not to come in here," Nelle lifted the welder's mask to reveal her goggle-clad face, which left any shred of eye contact out of the question.

"Did you not take heed of the sticky note I _so carefully placed_ on the door to give you a helping hand?" Her tone was tinny and short, a clear mark of a pedant and of someone with obsessive-compulsive habits. She wiped her brow with a handkerchief, newly acquired soot smearing on its fabric, while the sunlight invaded the space from all directions now that the tarp walls had been rolled up. The top of her previously buff-colored hair was still lightly peppered with ash and her eyelids hinted to how long she had been awake.

"I apologize for my earlier behavior," she calmed her inflection and set her pair of gloves onto the workbench to reveal her pale, raccoon-like hands. "The gas produced from those sort of reactions is toxic. Too much unprotected inhalation can get you horribly sick. That'd be quite unfortunate, judging how it'd push us back a few days…" Her justification was alarming, if not somewhat frightening. He began to realize why she had been shouting so unreasonably. It reminded him of the days where someone like Siam would do something ignorant, and he would find himself screaming at him and making the knobby-kneed man shrink into a corner. However, there would be no shrinking to be done with Kuro, and any exasperated yells that Nelle flung at him would be batted away and possibly countered with more force than she could ever handle.

"I'll forgive you this time," Kuro dismissed facetiously, and circled the crude vehicle beside her with interest. "I've never seen anything like _this_..." He was intrigued at the new sight, and was tempted to reach out and touch its cold, skeletal frame. It supported two front seats which seemed directly salvaged from an office space, and an open trunk, which was currently filled with red supply boxes.

"The sea kept you away from a lot, didn't it?" she commented dully through a mouthful of apple.

There was an awkward pause between the two of them, and he was flummoxed at how something so crass escaped from her mouth so casually. A blinking mental image of shaking her from the shoulders rabidly and possibly wringing her neck to wipe that cool apathy off of her weaselly face appeared in his mind as quickly as it would leave.

"Please. That couldn't be farther from the truth. If anything, this garage of yours keeps you away from everything."

"Alright. … Alright, you win," Nelle admitted reluctantly. "But I'm fine with that, Mr. Pierce, as long as progress is made... What you see in front of you is more of my life than you might realize."

She rested her hand on the iron tire attached to a curved bar on its front.

He squinted at it momentarily, and curved a few of his fingers to tap his knuckles against the metal.

"What _is_ it?"

He grimaced at this thing that he failed to understand, and ran his hand along one of the bars of its frame. As a seafarer, it was something bizarre and unknown, something challenging and suspicious. As Kuro, it was something that made him feel unacceptably stupid.

"_This…_ I call it the_ Scalar_, under its fourth modification. Scalar… Scalar IV… Because its scale of quality is always improving. Get it? Because scalars… Well, scalar originally meant_ ladder_ and…" the mechanic's flyaway smile at her work faded into a doubtful sigh. "Forget it. What do you care—be careful with that button. _I mean it."_

"Can you at least divulge on why it's so important? Why you work on it so dreadfully early, and ignore my presence by shutting yourself in here to leave me to my own devices? Remember who you're working with, Ms. Nerz… " he reminded darkly and leaned himself against its light frame. "You don't want to disappoint me."

"I'm aware," the inventor grimaced. "Today's an eventful day. But I'll tell you why I tried to squeeze in time for this. There's no other like it. You're staring at history in the making," she arrogantly placed her hands on her hips and gazed proudly at the jeep-like contraption. "Check out that engine. Hm. To be honest, the energy density of this fuel for it isn't what I want. That's all I'll tell you about that. It's not exactly efficient, but… I'll find something better. I know it," she ran a dry cloth over its skeleton. "Its exoframe—_trademark_—is made with molded bars of _carbon steel_ imported all the way from Water 7. You know, very far away from here… Yes, that's right, this metal is born from the same material that was used to make the Sea Train. The _Sea Train_!" the engineer nearly leaped off of her feet, and it was a comical sight paired with her perpetually lethargic look. He realized what he had gotten himself into when he asked, as her ranting about technicalities didn't seem to stop. "… You've heard of it, I hope? This is marvelous metal, and everything I could ask for. It cost me a fortune. I sent specific dimensions to them and they never failed to impress me with their work. It's sad that I've never had a chance to go there myself. They're very talented people, naturally."

"Obviously, if they could make something like this."

"Excuse me?" she bridled. "The craftsmen there are heavenly, but _I _made this. I'm the only one who knows how to drive it. Don't forget it. That's why I'd advise you to stay on my good side. Someday, it'll pull through," she lowered her eyes, and they appeared greyer under the light. The next word escaped as a doubtful whisper. It had a childishly idealistic quality that was being choked by the layers of cynicism in her voice. "_Someday…_"

Kuro stood with a raised eyebrow, hands in pockets, and he was truly wondering why this grungy vehicle wasn't already being sold across the seas.

"So, about the connections. About my landlord…"

The next thing he knew, he was getting acquainted with the vehicle the hard way. The hard, bumpy, rickety, whirring way that a sea captain's head would spin at. He remembered the engineer flipping a confusing array of tiny switches this way and that. The Scalar awakened in sputtering growls and rumbles. She had pointed to the adjacent seat and placed her hand on a shifting bar that was vertically placed onto a track, and it gained speed from the way she pushed the bar forward, or pulled it back as it would slow to a crawl. It had the motion of a metronome, and since her other hand was the only thing steering and controlling this bony, groaning little beast, he grew uneasy.

"I've told you about him, haven't I? … He's got a name, let me tell you. … He was one of the best bounty hunters around, back in his prime—ah, back when you weren't a problem, I hope. It was a while ago. … That's why we need to pay him a visit. … And see if he can give us some help. … "

Its grooved tires trudged through the moist grasses until it reached the town path, where it bumped and teetered and bounced across the stone and clay, and Kuro was rightfully afraid of losing his balance or somehow being thrown off from its windowless trajectory.

"Where… Am I supposed to hold onto?" he asked tentatively, and was somewhat embarrassed by the simplicity of the question.

"What are you talking about?" Nelle glanced with a raised eyebrow, entirely confused. "You don't."

Kuro glowered at her and raised his hand to grip on the overhead bar. His arm was bounced and shaken as the vehicle rolled and puttered along the cobblestone, and he reacted by tensing his legs cautiously. The Scalar's engine gave loud grumbles, which he was repeatedly startled by, while its tires rocked across the paths.

"…I wouldn't worry. Think of it as, uh, a job interview. … I've known Mr. Sals for a while. … A friend of my father's. … That's why I got the house in the first place, and… Gee, I'm getting off track, aren't I?" Nelle murmured, then continued. " … So, hopefully, he'll be compliant enough to give us a little push in notoriety. … Somehow. … Are you getting this, sir?"

Kuro heard every bit of it, but her words escaped into the air like sand being carried by the wind. He was distracting himself from the uncomfortable Scalar rattles by gazing out to his side at the small and green, rolling hills that overlapped across Milltown's outer plains, dotted with tall turbines and the occasional skinny tree. The gentle breeze brushed his nose and a small farmhouse, or two, or three, passed him by. A promising patch of crops caught his attention, with an old wheelbarrow leaning by, and it reminded him of something distant. Something that managed to be pushed away by the other sights and sounds that were racking his mind, and it fled very purposefully.

A screech. A growl. An abrupt stop. He had already caught onto the massive wooden house meters before they had come to it.

Nelle leaned back and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Mr. Sals's estate. Very nice."

"I'll say…"

Nice was an understatement. It was painted a creamy white and its long porch ascended a few feet above the ground, decorated with a few straw chairs and black tables. They had to get through a fence with a rather humble gate, and walk along a path with neatly trimmed grass, broken up by the few flowered plants that decided to colonize the place themselves. It was a cozy manor that had a quiet, rural charm, while still managing to be impressive. Kuro sighed inwardly. He would very much enjoy this sort of home. But a cat learns from its mistakes quickly, unless it asks to be disappointed again. His other plan to replace his host failed horribly. With no crew to back him up and be demonized for him, he was helpless before this beautiful estate, and could only wish to garner favor with this ex-pirate hunter.

"Punctual as always, Nerz."

A smallish man dressed in a light blue suit opened the front door and he tipped his light yellow bowler hat with a nod. Mr. Sals was a tan man verging on elderly, of slouched stature that barely reflected his formerly tall, hardened build and quick hands that, according to Nelle, were known to decimate pirates in his youth. He had young eyes and a face that aged surprisingly well, but his hair color, retaining only inklings of a peculiarly natural bluish ash, was being overtaken by the graying effects of time. Sals removed his hat and swept it under his arm to introduce himself, and when Kuro took his hand in his to shake, he could sense the sleeping power that it once held, and it made him immediately unnerved.

"You're the Pierce I've been hearin' about, I see." His voice was laced with traces of a drawling accent. "Come inside, both of you."

After they were through with the generalities, Sals pulled the woman aside for a moment, and they began murmuring to each other in a way that businesspeople would quip.

"Really, now? Let me have a look at him. … Hm… Nice, healthy shape to him, for the most part," he nodded back at him as if he were inspecting a machine. He then turned to the inventor and murmured something to her. "_A little frail, though, don't you think_?" The older man put his fingers around his wrist and pinched them together with an apprehensive expression.

Sals adjusted his blue ascot and stroked his brushy goatee, and looked as If he were chewing invisible tobacco in his mouth. "_That's the tiniest waist I've ever seen on a __man_—Oh! Excuse me, Mr. Pierce. It appears I've thought out loud."

"Sir, I don't disappoint," Kuro's dark eyebrow twitched, and he composed himself to sound genteel. "I know that I may not appear very strong, but I've had far more experience than my appearance garners. I'd go to whatever lengths necessary to prove it… But I'd rather not get my hands bloody."

"Ha!" the landlord leaned on his cane. "You're a little morbid. I'm enjoying the attitude. The only reason I'm interested in any of this is 'cause I've known this lady since she was a little urchin. … So, what made you so interested in hunting bounties, Mr. Pierce?"

"It's a rather long story, but I was a victim of one of the recent Black Cat raids," he still felt a rancid taste in his mouth whenever he mentioned his own crew, and his own destroyed past, but his tongue was too accustomed to lying to give anything away. "I was traveling here from the South Blue to visit my family."

The wealthy man clasped his hands together. "Dearly sorry for you, boy. Luckily, Black's Captain has been said to have been wiped out yesterday. There's no way he could've survived. You can thank our Marines for that," he frowned seriously. "… The _South _Blue? 'Some interesting history to that place… I remember when Gol D. Roger…—Ahem. I'm sorry. If I don't catch myself I end up running my mouth off. You're very fortunate, you know. This civilian could've just left you for dead. They say that luck comes to best kinds of people. I'm anxious to see your prowess, Mr. Pierce," he smiled cordially with layers of distinct dimples. "As for you, Nerz, I think I've seen enough over the years. You're wily to boot, but I trust you can treat this fellow well in your pursuits. Quite unlike you to reach out a helping hand so soon… I like it. Good job. He seems polite enough to be worth my time."

Nelle nodded as if she accepted his judgment without complaint, but there was something strangely calm about her. Kuro grew suspicious. There was something sprinkled in Sals's tone that gave way to some extra thought. He didn't know what it exactly was, but he quickly realized that this man, experienced and retired, was more than he appeared. He was unsure if his tonal disguise was working, but even so, what sort of fellow would treat a man like him politely if he knew anything about the truth?

"'Tell you what. Meet me for lunch for further discussion," the retired hunter rose out of his chair and started to saunter to the other room. "I've got some business to take care of in the meantime… I'll assess whether I really want to give you hand then. Sea Lion Shack, 1 o' clock?"

"Deal."

* * *

"… This is certainly unexpected," Nelle stared at her watch with concern. "He's usually very punctual. … Huh? Where'd you—"

Kuro was drawn to the luxurious store adjacent to the Shack, filled with pressed suits, shined shoes, and any other necessity that a wealthy man could want. Rows of colored and monochrome dress shirts were displayed brilliantly through their crystal-clear display cases and stretched towards a wall of neatly hung jackets and vests.

"HEY! You're getting ahead of yourself!" the inventor spat in disbelief as he ignored her to resume his window shopping. Headless mannequins proudly displayed perfectly tailored wares of all patterns and shades: sharp, immaculate, and preciously made. He squinted to look at the prices, which amounted to tens of thousands of Beri, or even hundreds of thousands. The money in his pocket? One hundred: the sort of money that could buy him a container of juice at best.

Kuro had a glaring weakness for material treasures of any kind, and he always tried desperately to fill his desires with gold and affluence. To wear a freshly pressed and tailored suit was one of the best feelings in the world on a cool, windy day, where his headaches about his crew were second priority. A white light illuminated a deliciously dark match of jacket and slacks. A black tie was rolled on a pedestal to its side. It was love at first sight: it was beautiful—

"'Out of my way!", thundered a young voice. Suddenly, Kuro caught wind of a darkly dressed boy barreling through the crowd behind him. His fierce, hurried gestures produced a few startled shouts after shoving for civilians to clear the way by waving a small, gleaming pocket knife that sprung out of its sheath. Kuro failed to move much aside from a casual turn.

The ruffian boy came to a halt, glaring at him, and scowled through thin lips:

"Move, dandy."


	10. Minor Difficulties

***12/19/12:**

Chapter 9 has been edited.

~Swaben

* * *

**Chapter 9:**

**Minor Difficulties**

A burgundy bandana covered the top of the ruffian's head and tufts of brown hair stuck out in disarray above his eyebrows. His fresh, restless eyes looked up and swirled with intense impatience.

Tap, tap.

Click.

Flick.

He impatiently fumbled with his knife, retracting and withdrawing its blade in the juvenile way that particularly annoyed the more experienced criminal of the situation.

Click, flick.

Kuro put a few fingers to his forehead and lowered an indignant, persona-breaking stare. It was offensive to see an inexperienced novice play with a weapon. That cocksure, immature look on his face was a reminder of how much he found children to be irritating.

But he would play his part. He flinched tellingly and drew one his hands close to his chest.

"Oh dear…"

He stepped aside and watched as the boy disappeared through the alley. A faded flurry of dust was kicked up after his shoes scratched against the path in his wake. Kuro furtively looked back at the inventor, who was making her way through the mess of disoriented people. She sent him an interrogative gesture.

"Didn't you see it?" he swept his hand. "That brat is after something important."

"Ah…" The woman's eyes darted back to her contraption several times, like a parent would do with a child left unattended. "My vehicle can't fit through there. It's compact, but the alleys are … Very thin."

"I think it's very possible," Kuro stroked his chin and proceeded to taunt her out of the corners of his eyes. "Are you afraid of a little boy with a little knife? Is this common Milltonian behavior?"

"No. … _No_! Of course not,_" _she replied flatly. He could almost taste the denial.

Kuro knew her type—he knew very well of the sort of people who shrivel under the threat of a well-kept blade.

She frowned at him with tired eyes.

"You see, I'm afraid of this being stolen by imbeciles who can't understand how to drive it."

He had a feeling that her arrogance made such a statement honest. Nelle was turning out to be a prickly, feeble individual with more pretension than she knew what to do with. But her knowledge was important, her business experience advantageous, and her clean name absolutely essential.

"No matter. I never said that I preferred assistance," Kuro said manner-of-factly, and shifted as he remembered the shaking sensation he felt in that blasted vehicle. "Your noisy little abomination would just give me away anyways."

"Abom… Abomi…" Nelle's upper lip curled and she threw her head to the side in offense.  
"_Abomination_…?" She appeared comically offended. Either that, or Kuro was wielding an invisible blade that managed to stab her through the chest. It was always a weapon of choice.

"Yes. An abomination," he twisted his lip. "It vomits smoke and growls louder than a bitch in heat." Kuro started off in the alley's direction, and the light tapping of feet was still audible. Nelle shot a quiet, savage growl in his direction, or perhaps it was just in his imagination. "You're going to have to explain to me later about how you plan to give it a patent…" He peered down the alley distractedly and bent his knees as if observing an animal.

"_You haven't a beginning of a clue as to how difficult it is to engineer something like this. What an idiot_," the inventor seethed at him with folded arms.

"What was that?"

"You know what needs to be done. I certainly know what I need to do."

He fleered at her under an otherwise cold face. "And what's that? Wait from afar?"

"I'm going to scope around for Mr. Sals. See, it's a joint effort," his employer paused to stick her head out into the shroud of shadows swathing the alley. The darkness was broken up by blotches of intense sunlight characteristic to a spring afternoon. "It just involves you doing the sort of work that would get someone like me possibly killed, and me doing the sort of work that you wouldn't bother with doing. Everybody wins."

"A little boy with a little knife…" Kuro echoed. "So be it. If there's any treasure he's hoarding, it's my property."

Nelle's expression flattened and dropped. She pressed her teeth together as if she were clenching her own discomfort.

"… The spoils are yours. But if there's any tab on his name, we split the money. I believe that's fair when you consider accommodations," her fingers tapped against her side. "Are you sure we haven't lost him by wasting time? It looked like he ran pretty fast."

"No," Kuro's neck bent forward while he started off into the shadows. "This is child's play."

He quickly caught up to the boy's running, and the novice struggled against his speed. He could hear his labored breathing in front of him, and his shoulders thrashed into a panicked sprint.

"Don't follow me, dandy! Don't think you're a hero!" The street youth flashed his knife at him and leapt like a squirrel onto a suspended ladder. After swinging with his weight, he flung himself airborne and landed into a narrow alley, sidling himself quickly to weasel into another.

Kuro disappeared.

"Heroes don't fight in alleys."

The petite rouge pirouetted into a clumsy, dizzying spin from the force of Kuro's hands thrashing him aside, and he took a moment to gather his balance and grab his head.

"Quit talking crap, you're just a creep!" He slipped away and kept himself under the awnings to cooperate with the shadows.

The wind whipped violently against Kuro's face beneath his speed. A poster stuck to him and flapped against his nose and obscured his sight. He hissed and spat at the taste of paper and clawed at his face with his fingers. After he tore it off of his face, his assumption was correct: the Wanted poster's display was a grinning, dark-eyed boy, clad with a straw hat. The humiliation in his past simply wouldn't escape him. That Luffy's success was just growing and growing, wherever he was, while Kuro wallowed in the realization that he hit rock-bottom, and was scrounging and scrambling up a steep cliff. He threw the tossed poster to the wind behind him.

"Tell me what kind of trouble you're up to!" Kuro demanded impatiently while teasing him with a false sense of superiority.

"No!," the young bandit snapped. His eyes were wide, filled with hostility and fear. "Flag the cops on me, and I'll flay you!" Another flash of his knife cut the air.

"You little_ rodent_, I know more than you think," Kuro chortled haughtily and blocked his sprint. "Your handling of a blade is also—" he swayed, catching the boy's parry and squeezing his wrist. "—A_wful_." He was debating twisting it, but he chose to keep him intact. His objective was to follow.

The bandit slapped him away, grunting angrily, and slid from under him, cutting a tether from above. A hanging net of fish was falling on him. He was being engulfed by a rapidly expanding shadow.

"Get lost!"

Kuro's eyes rolled. He side-stepped this effortlessly and heard a moist, heavy crash. The bandit cursed. His patience was thinning.

"If it's any trouble worth a bounty, then you're clearly doing it poorly. I'm going so pitifully easy on you." He messed with his glasses out of annoyance, pushing them up with his palm in a bizarre fashion.

There was one thing that you didn't want to gamble with when it comes to dancing with a deadly pirate: boring him. The irony was severe, and the only innocence this bandit held was the fact that he was so pitifully uneducated to his identity. Kuro was beginning to enjoy the instant anonymity of returning to Milltown, nestled on the prosperous corner of the island of Beagal— composed of level beaches, grassy hills, rocky flatlands, and the will to be explored and plundered of its wealth.

"_Beat it_ already!" his opponent scrambled his way through a pile of empty boxes and scoffed petulantly. "I'm not afraid of some string-bean…"

Kuro easily pinned him. "Really? Do you really want to try without some negotiation? A young gentleman like yourself has no need to be such a little—!" his teeth grated and he held back his tongue and pursed his lips, swallowing a violent curse. "_Savage_."

He avoided a swift kick to the face.

Frustrated, the bandit snarled at him and swung his small knife with enough force to rip a slash into his sleeve. It was a clear miss. After realizing his blunder, the boy wriggled through a tangle of clothes lines and rolled forward, turning into a narrow street after nearly slipping from his own ratty shoes against a slick puddle. He then turned back his head and searched for the signs of his pursuer. He stepped cautiously, like a hind in a barren meadow. Paranoid, and suddenly alone. His feet made gentle tapping noises against the damp, clammy ground.

Kuro's eyes were darkened under a shadow and he remained still inside of a narrow space between two adjacent shops. His breath was silent. He eyed the bandit's path carefully. His hushed feet followed him until he reached the point where the boy paused, turned into another alleyway and began talking with an accomplice. He saw another figure, stone-still, in some sort of restrained sitting position. Kuro had found a spot within the shadows that concealed himself rather well, and allowed him to observe every movement, every word, and every subtle clink of a weapon.

"I'm here. Some weird guy had the nerve to try and chase after me. 'Bastard was fast..." the rouge flicked the sweat off of his forehead. "But, I… I made it…"

"Get the twine," ordered the taller, rough-mannered girl, who appeared to be a few years his senior. "What'd 'e look like?"

"Glasses," he pointed to his own eyes, drawing imaginary spectacles with his finger. He pushed up his nose to stretch his nostrils in a mocking gesture. "Really shiny, round glasses. Skinny, really thin, uh... Black hair, narrow eyes. A real creep."

"Idiot. He might've been an undercover cop! Keep your head screwed on, will you?"

Kuro bristled. The fellow he was chasing couldn't have been older than sixteen. The man that they intended to mug was none other than the affluent landlord and retired bounty hunter himself. The familiar man recognized him and locked eyes despite his hiding, and he gave him an affirmative, discreet wink. Sals had a phenomenal eye that cut through the grey of his stealth. It was almost intimidating, almost scary.

What if he knew?

What if this was all an elaborate set-up that his own mind had already predicted?

What if him and Nelle were in cahoots to bring him down, and he was already the loser, the caged, weaponless animal?

The paranoia could've made his heart race. It could've made him absolutely mad. But he calmed himself. He was Kurt of the South Blue, a bounty hunter. Perhaps even a skilled assassin. An honest, self-proclaimed arrogant man with a quiet penchant for reading and sleeping. He needed to play him convincingly. And maybe an obscure part of him wished that it was all true.

The young bandits resumed talking after the boy busied himself with the twine.

"It was like… It's like he knew taekwondo or something—I swear."

"Taekwondo? They don't even teach that around here, you dork. Hell, I dunno what you're even talking about…"

"Well, maybe not taekwondo, but he was like a ninja or something. Do you think…" His wistful muse was cut off.

"Ninja? Taekwondo? Jeez… Stop listening to those dojo stories. They don't have any of that around here," she slapped her hand to her forehead. "Just keep a look out and make sure that guy doesn't come back. If you fended him off once, you can do it again…" She then ignored her accomplice, and resumed her interrogation. "I'll make this easy for you, aristocrat," the bandit girl paced. "Just give us your money. Give us your address, and… _Mm_…" she paused and drawled out the sound while in thought. "Give us your house key."

The restrained man looked unfazed. "Are you sure that you even know how to open a door?"

Her voice became sharp. "_What_?"

"You kids just lock-pick your way through everything," Sals clarified. "I've seen it too many times. I've dealt with so many like you."

She spun the small switchblade in her hand. She picked up the pointed cane that was left out of his reach, and ran her calloused fingers across the polished crystal on its top.

"Oh, boy. I wonder how much this'll sell for," she giggled at it triumphantly and spun it round her hand. She jabbed his chest lightly in a taunt.

"Dear, do you even know who I am? Who I _was_?"

"Ah… _No._ Now, hand over your keys. I don't want to have to clean my knife. Go on. Hand it over. Tell us everything. I reckon you've got a lot in those pockets of yours," the young woman snaked towards his face. She pressed the blunt edge of her knife onto the thin fabric of his ascot, which barley covered the vulnerable skin of his neck beneath it.

"I'm not giving up anything," Kuro heard the landlord insist doggedly.

His fingers tapped against the wall that he was sidled against and he stood in wait. His cue was soon and he was growing impatient with the bandits' ineptitude. To call them true criminals would be a false title and an honor that Kuro thought they didn't quite earn nor deserve.

"Why's that?" the girl asked. "You've got nothing but weak knees to fight with."

"I don't need to."

A sharp, whipping noise cut the air, and her accomplice was thrown back into the wall by unseen hands. The boy squealed in pain as he met the ground's grainy surface. Hot tears welled up in his eyes and quickly wet his youthful face. He hyperventilated and was slipping into a state of pained, confused shock.

"My wrist's broken, my wrist's broken… My wrist— My wrist…" the boy moaned pitifully, and the sound was slowly dying under an escalating bout of sobbing. "Sha—shattered…"

"Shut up! Shut up! We'll get caught!" the bandit girl snapped at him icily in sudden panic. "Quit crying! Do you hear me?" It seemed to make their situation worse.

This wasn't on his agenda either. The breaking of his wrist would cause unneeded attention. Idealistically, he would've been cleanly knocked out. But Kuro realized, over and over, that people were fragile against walls. A young bandit in such pain was a pitiful sight, but his mind offered him no sympathy.

Skittishly, the young woman with the hat patrolled the area around her younger accomplice, and glints from her small knife were flashing signals of vulnerability.

"I see a shadow … A hand, over there. A shoulder… Look!" the boy attempted to point.

"Where? _Where_?"

"I, I don't know," he massaged his hand. "It's gone now."

"Well, where the hell was it when you saw it? Where?"

"Over there!"

"_Where_ over there?" the bandit's face grew red with frustration over her inability to find her attacker, and from the small voice and little noises from her incapacitated accomplice.

"It's gone. It's gone. It doesn't matter. 'Was probably nothing... " his voice quivered with paranoia. "But I felt hands, hands _on me_, outta nowhere, like a ghost," he clutched his wrist with wide eyes. He sniffled up a bout of mucus and tears. "I need a doctor."

"We'll getcha a doctor, alright?" she caught her breath and her voice softened as her hand clenched the knife. She sighed. "There's no such thing as ghosts. It isn't the end of the world with a broken wrist, alright? Come on. You've got your other hand. 'Might as well make yourself useful."

The captive waited expectantly, nearly bored and entirely calm, contrast to the frantic muggers. The girl's eyes darted around and she bore an anxious knife hand. It was quivering under the stress of the unknown and her stance told Kuro that she was highly hostile and increasingly paranoid by reflex.

"That's him! I told you!" the bandit yelled timorously at the emerging figure.

"Glasses!"


	11. Nothing

Back, finally: yes, it's updated, the story is not dead forever. The longest chapter yet, I thought it'd only be fair since I hadn't updated in months, sorry about that! College has made me a lot busier.

***12/19/12:**

**Chapter 10** has been edited.

~Swaben

* * *

**Chapter 10:**

**Nothing**

One could mistake Kuro for an automation with the way he coolly eyed the situation in front of him, and he knew very well how much it was petrifying the daylights out of the young bandits. Light blanketed him like an expanding puddle as he stepped into the brightness of the alley. The boy's shivering gaze stuck to him as he moved like a ghost emerging from shadow.

"He's the one. He's the one who did it," the young bandit whispered to his accomplice. His voice raised along with his chin. "It was _you_, dandy. I knew it."

Kuro stared at them both. The sheen from his glasses obscured his eyes in a white flash, and the lenses were cold, hard, and inhuman. He pressed his palm up against them for a moment.

"I've never seen your face before..." the girl roughly adjusted her hat and rolled her shoulders back in confrontation. "'Got any business here?" Her small blade spun like an angry sawmill wheel and it danced tactfully around her fingers.

"All of the business in the world, miss."

The ragamuffin slicked her tongue over her chapped lips and contorted her mouth into a tight pucker. A clear, viscous glob of spit landed near his shoes in reply.

"'Ain't got no business here unless I say so. You best get out of here before I mug the shit out of you, too." The aggressive sweep of her foot created a dusty half-circle that faded in contact with the breeze. Her knife continued to spin in its own frantic dance around her hand in an ostentatious show of skill. "Your money is the least you owe me for what you just did. A guy like you won't scare me."

The boy was still huddled against the wall, cradling his limp, tender hand. He tightly sucked in his lips to seal away the pain.

"I'd advise you to be smart and just give up on this little game before you get yourself and that boy of yours hurt," Kuro chewed on his own superiority complex, and collectedly rested his hands to his sides.

"You're disgusting. Who do you think you are?" Suddenly and ferociously, the young woman lunged like a terse spring, knife open in hand. "Your ass is_ mine_!"

The whir of the knife flew past Kuro's tart, sardonic face and stirred a strand of his hair.

"Aren't I a little old for you?"

"Pig!," she shouted incredulously, flying into a repulsed tantrum. She made a rapid side swipe for his chest. The slash was absorbed by empty space, and she teetered on one foot, stupefied. Her body gave a twist as he stretched the hood from her large jacket over her head. He yanked its strings and its green fabric tightly cinched to cocoon her face. The product was a bizarre looking creature that muffled and grunted, whirling like a deranged circus animal.

"Uwuh! 'Ye fugger!" the bandit warbled, tasting cotton. Her knife flailed frantically while she blindly searched for his body, and panicked until she loosened the hood.

"It's obvious that you're in no condition to be a challenge. This is truly a waste of my time and energy. Don't make this necessary for me, for your sake and mine," Kuro goaded with a numb visage. "I was anticipating a quiet lunch free of irritations."

Kuro's fierce whipping kick was evaded in a surprising show of reflex. The bandit girl leapt with her knees drawn up so close that they nearly smacked into her chest. Her grimy, naked fingertips curled as her gloved hand formed into a fist, the others firm around the hilt of her knife. Her sucker punch was neutralized as his leg returned to send her thudding against stone.

She cried out and blood lightly dribbled from the corner of her mouth, dangling like the juice of a cherry. She spat and wiped its remainders off of her lip as she lay on the ground, then shaking as she rose.

"Think of your boy. Give up. It would be sorely against me to kill minors," Kuro said carefully as the former bounty hunter's wise blue eyes were upon him. "I have my standards. If you continue to be this naïve about winning, I might exceed them."

"You're full of shit," the bandit huffed. "No way am I… Giving into a… Goddamned bluffer." She slid a few fingers across her lip and rubbed them on her jacket.

A familiar grind and screech sounded at the mouth of the alley after the boy clumsily made a run for it. Kuro averted his eyes to the angular silhouette of the inventor's vehicle, and saw the blurred image of her leaning out of its driver's seat. Nelle stressed its engine, and the onslaught tremulous growls and screaks was distracting. The boy shouted a high-pitched squeal and scrambled against the wall, while bandit girl focused on the vehicle with a drooped, frowning mouth, as if she were utterly confused.

"This feels like twine," Kuro mouthed to a mostly immobile Sals.

"Take your time," the older man replied audaciously. He didn't seem very concerned about his situation.

As Kuro's hands were busying themselves at quickly trying to sever the ties and loosen the knots, his attention became diverted back as he heard the cool sound of metal piercing air. His reflexes prevented him from being cut as the girl tried jab him with an agile hand. Over and over, it was cutting air and mincing absolutely nothing. Every time that she would slash at an opening, her blow would be caught swiftly. Block after block and twist after turn, she was being backed into a corner quicker than she had ever experienced. As Kuro's shadow shrouded her, her nervousness leaked through her quivering mouth.

"I, I dunno what you're here for, man, but we weren't gonna kill him, I promise."

"That doesn't matter a wink to me," Kuro clarified as he patronized her with a raised index finger. "The point I want you to understand is that you're not going to succeed, because that man is of severe importance to me."

"What do you want me to do, drop my knife? Is that what you want? Okay. Okay…" she feigned submission, nodding slowly to him and gingerly placing the knife on the ground. He took one insignificant step back, and encountered her kneecap speeding for his nether regions. He caught it and squeezed. The bone of his thumb pressed hard into its pressure point.

"You're trying my patience."

The bandit writhed violently at the pressure and her shoe crunched onto his toe. His teeth grated at the sudden pressure and she wriggled free. In his moment of distraction, she rushed at him, yelling, blade overhead. Her desperate, rage-filled howl permeated the air and it was matched with the swift noise of speed. She winced at him in shock. His hand engulfed her wrist, and he countered her dispassionately. In a second or two, the boy's accomplice fell unconscious.

It was a painfully easy fight for Kuro. It was almost grating at how unskilled they were to not even land a single hit on him, besides the low-brow tactic of stepping on one of his toes, which he found to be hardly notable. Here he was, looking like an average civilian, suddenly whirling and zipping and disorienting their wits into outer space. It surprised him to return to common reality: a reality where most people were weak, nearly harmless, and not concerned with nautical squabbles and raids and other things that pirate captains must worry about each day. He made the adjustment years back at Kaya's mansion, and he felt as if this were a repetition. But, he anticipated pulse-pounding scenarios later on, where millions of Beri were at stake in the midst of blurring capture attempts and legal turmoil amidst the bounty hunting world, regarding those he hunted, and, fearfully, regarding himself.

The younger bandit paled at the sight and clutched himself with his good hand. He leaned away as his body shook lightly; he was tearfully huddled by himself, suddenly vulnerable. Kuro approached him, kneeling, and his hand reached for the knife that he was still clutching.

"Don't…" the youth dodged his hand, closing in his shoulders and staring at worn leather of his shoes.

After some fragile resistance, Kuro gently pulled the pocket knife out of his shaking hand and it swung from his fingers like a pendulum. He rolled its switch and the silvery blade sprang out eagerly to meet his experienced eyes. He inspected it with interest, and then retracted the blade. It had a blue glazed body, marked with the subtle engraving of some ancient sea serpent. It looked like a familiar symbol, like from old myths he overheard as a boy when there was nothing left to do in the day but sit in the living room and talk of nonsense.

"This is a very beautiful knife," he commented, and the boy failed to look at him. "Did you steal this?"

The bandit nodded helplessly, rubbing his shoulder across his cheek. His face fell as Kuro slid the tiny weapon into his pocket.

"Where?"

"… I'm not telling."

Kuro gripped his chin. His fingers pressed into the skin of his cheeks until he felt the tenderness of his gums. His voice lowered into a malevolent hiss. "You're telling. Where?"

"Ma... Matsu's," his eyes turned aqueous.

"Tell me more. Is that a man's name? Is that a store? "

"Ippon-Matsu's weapon shop. Matsu is a man… And it's a store—," the boy winced as his face was turned sideways. "—In Lougetown."

"Lougetown, huh?" he got up. "Quaint. I'm not unfamiliar to it. In fact..." He paused and looked at him pensively. "You've got an awful lot of nerve to steal from that man. I'm very impressed."

"Yeah, well, what's it to you?," the boy's rebellious streak returned the moment Kuro's hand was freed his face. "You don't know me."

Kuro ignored him and severed the ties around Sals while the inventor was suddenly rushing over to his aid. She was simultaneously keeping a hawk's eye on the young male.

" I bet you didn't expect this as your average afternoon, Mr. Sals," Nelle looked him over concernedly. "It seems like they didn't get to beating you up, eh?"

"I've been through much worse than a child's arrogance," Sals nodded dully. He turned. "I could have very well done better, but... Mr. Pierce, after watching your technique, I'm heartily impressed. I suppose I'm very thankful as well. But I wouldn't say it's farfetched for me to have got myself in this little mess just to see what you could do," he smiled slyly at him while he turned his wrists over to inspect them.

"You've got an accurate hand," she nodded to Kuro and at his clean cuts that skillfully avoided the man's skin. "Here, let me help you up with that. I've got to do my part sometime," her grin was contagious as she grasped the landlord's wrist.

In their moments of distraction, the bandit boy was slowly shuffling against the wall, knees shaking out of fear. As soon as Kuro made eye contact, he froze in place, and swallowed as if the speech had been sucked out of him.

Then, he spoke, in the form of a question:

"Who are you?"

The youth looked filled with intrigued, unsettled alienation. The two were separated by a schism of experience, of a plane of many bloody years or lack thereof, and the stone-cold eyes of a pirate captain resembled nothing of the warm tones within the eyes of a boy still trying to find himself.

"It's not your place to know," Kuro dismissed.

Their lives were on the opposing faces of the same rusted coin, and there was no telling if this young bandit would ever tread down the dark path of leadership and self-preservation that Kuro had chosen long ago.

The boy remained standing in the same place, leaning against the whitish brick wall, cradling his hand, staring. He became braver with every word he managed to speak to him.

"… Don't hurt her anymore."

"What?"

"Don't hurt Peyli."

Kuro glanced at the unconscious bandit.

"I don't need to. She's conveniently hurt as it is."

"She's my sister," the boy replied defensively. His lip shook as he tried to mask his anxiety and the still-searing, throbbing pain of his wrist. The poor boy would be a pitiful sight to most: however petulant and recusant he was, he was still a deeply saddened, fearful young man without any place to run to.

"Then I suppose you two can share the experience of knowing what it's like to be in a cell. It builds character," Kuro replied bitterly, a reminiscent glaze returning to his eyes as he was flooded with memories both grey and dank, where the stagnant air was thick enough to be swallowed.

"Your sibling will be fine," Nelle assured him as she approached. "Did you know that they give you free food when you're in juvenile detention? Now, you need to learn from this mistake and come with us. Go on. Hop up. Come on. You go in the back."

"Who the heck are you? What the hell is that?" the bandit turned frantically to her and then to the vehicle. "Let go of me!" he squirmed fruitlessly as she took a hold of his good wrist.

"Ouch! Don't even think of biting me! _Stop that, you little Neanderthal_—I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, my tongue slipped. Struggling is futile. You're a rebellious child who got in trouble. You're not going to die—again with the biting—Will you stop it? I'm trying to treat you like an adult here!"

Nelle's muttering complaints about his struggle was all Kuro heard for the few minutes where he was still searching for the other bandit's weapon. Then, after he slipped the prize into his pocket, he carefully slung the unconscious girl over his shoulder. Though he wasn't paying attention to it, the boy was giving him the most intense, frustrated, and pitiable frown, similar to a Fishman who was being yanked by the arm by a noble's gloved fingers.

Kuro found himself exiled to the tray of the Scalar, next to the red supply boxes, and adjacent to the young bandit that he wounded, and his unconscious, more seasoned sister. The boy's large brown eyes glared at him as he folded his arms across his chest, hiding his pained wrist. It was undoubtedly an awkward situation. Its wheels bumped across a fault in the pathway and both of them were jostled upward, mirroring each other's startled expressions.

"I didn't intend to break your wrist. That was an accident," Kuro admitted distractedly.

The bandit's young brow drew into a furrow and he puckered his lips to the side.

"What did you mean to do, then, huh?"

To that, Kuro remained suspiciously silent, and sat upright, feeling the wind in his hair and the onset of hunger in his gut.

The boy shuffled himself as far away from the ex-captain as possible. His body tensed and he was holding back the tears, substituting it with toughness that he was clearly struggling with.

"Are you alright back there?" Nelle's voice questioned ambiguously. "That was quite the bump in the road."

He hatefully raised his eyes in the direction of her seat, and Kuro watched the boy's eyes follow how she squished a cigarette into the ash tray in between her and Sals.

After the Scalar trundled along for what seemed like an awfully long time, it eventually reached the destination that Sals ordered Nelle to chauffeur them to. The Town Hall was a moderately large building, entirely beautiful yet equally boring in its own symmetry, yet understandably intimidating to any strain of law-breaker. Kuro analyzed its mediocrity as he walked inside. It was out of his comfort zone, but he squared his shoulders and went along his way.

"Who do you work for?" the inventor briefly questioned the boy, and one could even expect her to whip out a notepad right then and there.

"Why would I tell you?"

"There's no logical reason you should tell me, really," she admitted. A silence descended for a moment as she stood in thought. Kuro was distracted by the environment, and by the people streaming in and out of an array of offices, and how he was resisting his own capture just by standing there as a completely different man. Nelle continued.

"Let me make a deal with you. I'll tell the Town Hall to subtract whatever money's needed from what they'll give us, to pay for your wrist. Contrary to popular belief, I do believe that they can point you to the medical facilities for kids like you."

Her voice sounded agreeable, though it was almost like she winced in pain at the thought of losing funds.

"… You'd do that?"

"Do I look like a liar to you?"

He hadn't completely forgone suspicion.

"Give me a break. A liar looks like everybody."

Nelle paused at the comment and lifted her chin, looking enlightened. It produced an inner shudder from Kuro. Yes. This boy was intelligent. In comparison to his relatively agile, experienced sister, one would never guess it from him when they were juxtaposed.

"Is it a deal, then?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow if you come by, if you're really telling the truth..." he looked downwards.

"Great. Thank you for cooperating," she said, almost robotically, but then her expression lightened.

"Do you know how long they'll keep me in there?"

"I don't know. What's the worst you've ever done?"

"… Well, it's not like we've killed anyone or nothin'._"_

"You'll have enough time to think of how to do better next time, right? This won't happen again if you do- er, it doesn't need to happen," her voice was surprisingly warm towards him as she stammered. "I'm going to be talking to you and your sister in the morning. There will be a call. Answer it. I need further information. This won't happen ever again if you do. Watch after her when she comes to, now. _We have enough rotten people in this town as it is_," she finished bitterly, though it was more of a mutter to herself that Kuro just so happened to pick up on.

His eyebrows relaxed in contrast to his uncomfortable, ambivalent behavior.

"I will."

There was a curious moment when the boy and his sister were lead away after the conversation. Peyli was just then regaining consciousness, and she obstinately yelled at the authorities. Her protective streak and strong will to escape was overwhelming. It seemed the bandit boy took on a special sort of respect for the inventor for the transaction, and he had almost looked dispirited, as if a thousand regrets were rushing at him at once. They would learn the way of the world within due time, but for now, there were too many questions hurdled their way, and too many that they were beating aside.

Kuro knew the eyes: he knew the pervasive look of being wrong, regretful, and miscalculating.

The clanging and banging of dishes and pans and assorted noisy utensils vibrated through the ambiance of the _Sea Lion Shack_. It was a corny name for a quaint, respectable restaurant that lied in the heart of Milltown's port, and often attracted many foreign visitors due to its iconic name and coastal themed dishes. Milltown was known for its abundant sea lion population, though when Kuro asked of it, Nelle wouldn't talk about it much, and she seemed to hate the creatures.

They discussed the meager amount of Beri that they were rewarded for the two young ruffians' capture, and much to Kuro's disdain, Nelle was the one with the calculations and the dividends, due to her clear identification records, along with her experience with money-handling and anything having to do with a business. The downsides to being a "shadow man"- someone not affiliated with the government or even having any valid identification- were crippling to him. He pressed his fingers into his forehead. At this point, he would scrape what he could get, for now, and lay low with his payments, as his identity as Mr. Kurt Pierce was infinitely safer than regressing into a failed Captain Kuro and becoming a redundant mess.

There was a silver lining to every cloud: he had finally gotten his lunch.

"I suppose that settling down wasn't your cup of tea…" Sals began talking to Nelle in a more personal manner that Kuro examined as he sat in thought. The former bounty hunter dug his fork into his salad and swished it around until he plucked out a ripe slice of tomato. "Though I never thought that you would actually go through with something like this. It reminds me of my old days."

"Settling down requires a great deal of fulfillment with the life you already have. And, honestly, I would, if the rest of this sea even appreciated mechanics to the extent that I do, and made thorough use of what it has to offer," she moved her fork around her plate while chewing on a piece of lettuce. "It's something that I lack, what with all of the money I've lost lately... Ah, it's our friend!" Nelle suddenly became distracted and signaled with a wave.

"How's the food?" the ruddy-haired chef sauntered over to smile at them. "Oh, and, hello... Kurt, correct?"

"It's pleasant, thank you. You're right. Good day," Kuro replied curtly and then phased him out to focus on his meal. He wasn't in a mood for idle conversation, especially with someone who had nothing to with his business.

"Delectable, Andrew," Sals replied. "You'll make a marvelous chef one day."

"I'd like to see Andy's very own restaurant become a reality," Nelle added. "You can do it. I've seen it happen."

"Really?" Andy bashfully rubbed his neck. "Jeez, well, I am working on it. I'm working very hard, actually... In fact, I've become busy." He paused and looked at his own work set on the table. "Hey, do you know when Neil will be around again? He told me he's been in training lately."

"Him?" Nelle blinked. "Oh. Can't you find him inside any club around here? He goes to parties like they're grocery stores, like they're a necessity. Since we do have a training facility here, he should be wiggling out of them to those party-places or discos, or whatever they're called, any time he gets to have fun. You know, like he always does."

"I was thinking of hanging out with him outside of one of those damned places. He tried to take me to one last week... Do you _know_ what happened, Nelle?"

"Uh..."

He took a deep breath, as if recounting it was humiliating.

"Somebody grabbed my-"

Suddenly, a frustrated yell addressed him from the depths of the kitchen.

"Oh, I have to go! Ah, thanks, both of you!" his burly self nervously ran off, hand pressed atop his own head to secure his cooking hat. Kuro was unsure what to think of the young chef-to-be. He admired his cooking, for one thing, but he found him particularly good-hearted, in a way that made him feel distant. There were only nice things to say about Andrew Harlow from his peers, although he could be clumsy and pessimistic. Perhaps he would appear more often later on, but for now, he found the fish in front of him more appealing.

"Somebody grabbed his._.. Somebody grabbed his what_?" Nelle's eyes narrowed confusedly and they darted to both of them for contribution. Kuro paid the dumb question no mind, but found it amusing how someone who regularly spent all of their time on high-flung equations, complex tools, and business work could be so oblivious to simple social cues.

"I love that kid. He reminds me of my son," Sals smiled distractedly, then hastily jumped to another topic. "Keep a good head about you, Nelle. …" he paused, flashing his eyes to Kuro. There was an uncomfortable silence. But then he spoke up again with reasonable sincerity. "If not, I'm sure that Mr. Pierce has one. So I doubt you must worry that much." His smile was warm and wise, but Kuro had a mantra that had never failed him in the past, and was entirely unfair to those that put their faith in him and his facades:

_Trust no one._

"Ah, yes, I already know all too well about Mr. Pierce's cleverness," Nelle replied half-jokingly. "But I'm a little insulted. Never doubt my capacity for a stable mind. Anybody else would have gone insane in my situation by now. Sign the papers, write the formulas, call the imbeciles who misread the instructions, sign the papers, write the formulas, _read _the formulas… I've had enough. I'm going to get my ideas out there to people that will make it _soar._" She made a sweeping motion with the fork in her hand, making a pierced piece of tangerine fly with it.

"The last time you tried, remember… The incident?"

"Oh, yes. The incident," she raised her fork and waved it at him. "We don't talk about that."

"The _incident_?" Kuro averted his eyes from his balmy bowl of fish chowder. "You've gotten me curious. As somebody who's trying his best to adjust to the nuances of life here, I think I have the right to know."

"It's nothing to be concerned about, I assure you. … These drinks are delightful, aren't they?"

"Your employer is just very embarrassed to tell you that at one time, the Scalar, it…" Sals glanced at Nelle expectantly. "It exploded…"

Kuro's expression grew humorously flat. He had the expressive capacity of a plank of driftwood, yet his eyes were suspicious and his Adam's apple was slowly crawling back into its original place.

"Did I hear you correctly?" He cleared his throat and glanced towards the door of the restaurant.

"It exploded," Sals snorted and tried to contain his laughter.

"Excuse me. That was Scalar I. One," Nelle raised her finger with a pedantic frown. "That was the first prototype. An entirely different beast in itself."

"You just keep creating monsters."

"That's enough, grandfather," she chewed. "You know as well as I that you're consistently impressed with my handiwork."

"Grandfather! What? That's no way for a tenant to behave! I'm not even old enough to be your grandfather!"

"I think my postulation is nothing but valid, since you're acting senile enough," Nelle smirked around her fork.

A little hint of a smile edged around the ex-captain's lips as he contained his sense of humor. He wore his Kurt Pierce smile at both of them.

"I'd be dead already if I were unfortunate enough to be your grandpa," their banter continued.

"For gods' sakes, I'm only thirty. You have time."

"Barely. When's your birthday? August… 29th, isn't it?"

"Thirty-one, alright."

"Wait until your father hears about the way you push your jokes… If I live to tell the tale in that thing of yours!"

"For heaven's sake, put this into perspective. That was seven years ago. There were no passengers. And it was on the_ beach_ of the uninhabited side of the coast," the inventor's face flattened seriously, though she looked ridiculous as she irritably chewed a mouthful of vegetables. "Your argument is invalid."

"I have a hard time believing that your hair's always been wiry," he responded to her with a subdued chortle.

"You're too much…" Nelle groaned. "Mr. Pierce, there are many different types of explosions for an interesting variety of reasons. He's being far too general," she asserted with a wave of her hand as she tried to defend her ego.

The lunch meeting regressed into more serious discussion after Kuro found himself confused and caught between the landlord and the inventor's acerbic yet light-hearted bantering. What an odd relationship they had—it was almost as if the two were related. He was intensely questioned by Sals on his agile fighting technique, and praised for his efficiency in disarming as well as his unusual reflexes:

What training did you go through? Your speed is remarkable, what's your secret? How did you tune your reflexes like that? What's your exercise regimen? Were you born with such a gift?

The honest answers to these questions would have been too shocking.

Nelle and Sals talked for a lengthy amount of time about how promoting his skills would work, and it seems that Sals was only necessary for the beginning portion of his career, where he held an immense bank of knowledge and authority over registered bounty hunters and wanted felons. He was the source of advice when Nelle's dizzying folders wouldn't suffice, and he knew the infrastructure of the World Government's bounty system more thoroughly than either of them. However, there was something strangely perceptive within his eyes, and the cutting edge of his intuition felt like an exposing mirror.

Was this man truly oblivious, or did he know about it all? Was he merely to become a cog in their monetary plot? He discarded the thought, thinking it to be too sinister for either of them. After a few hours of useful discussion and equally useless casual conversation, it was time for both parties to return home, or, as Nelle would say in that phlegmatic way of hers, "back to business."

The dull and stagnant hush of the inventor's home was a pleasant contrast to the afternoon. It was evening. Lamp in tow, the woman remained sitting at her living room desk, and pleasantly ignored his existence as he spent most of the evening reclined in thought and mostly silent. She wore a focused, subtle frown, and her heavy eyelids were lowered. Her thick carmine robe gave a stiffness to her posture that ran all the way down to the dark, baggy silks of her slacks while she slouched over the text with professor-like austerity.

Kuro was thumbing through one of the books that lay on one of her shelves, but he soon figured out how improper his judgment was. Its pages were covered in dissertations and dry proofs, riddled with bizarre equations that were as long as they were baffling. It quickly made him frustrated at how he couldn't decipher their meaning. He was never educated in such things, and never had a need for it. He put the book aside before he would be bombarded with Nelle's questions about it, and pulled into a discussion about concepts he had never even gleamed before.

After a few hours, Nelle's chair creaked as it was pushed backwards. She claimed the large chair across from him, and casually leaned on its arm. A small, lacquered box was lifted from the table and he watched as she opened it. Her left hand dug around her robe's pocket until she pulled out a match from its container. She cradled the pipe as she lit it with more gentility than he'd ever seen her interact with a person. Smoke floated from its curved mouth and she inhaled slowly. There was a lack of eye contact and he found this much more pleasant than the Nelle earlier who chose to undermine him for his lack of technical knowledge.

"Well, today was certainly eventful in a way I wouldn't have normally liked," she finally spoke up and moved her piece to the side. "I got some paperwork done this evening while you were lying there, staring off into space with the most glassy look in your eyes." A careless stream of smoke escaped her nostrils. "I apologize. I usually don't do this inside, but I've been anxious lately. And I think I should be honest with you… Having you around doesn't exactly make me comfortable. I intend to take out the jet ski tomorrow morning, to clear my head, as I usually do- it was the reason I had found you in the first place. But, I'm not so sure," she admitted uncomfortably, and cleared her throat.

"At least you've got enough sense to be afraid. But if you truly knew any better, you'd_ lie_. You'd play dumb and favor me. You'd pretend like you even cared. You'd grovel at my feet, knowing what I am. You'd try to hide what you fear the most. It's simply human condition, and rarely do I meet a civilian so unorthodox as to not abide by that simple rule of survival. Would you like to know a secret?" Kuro asked with an evil smolder.

"You're getting cozy with me already? You're a peculiar man. So, what is it then?"

"If it's within my range of control, there wouldn't be a single person alive who knows my identity."

Nelle froze mid-puff, and coughed in a startled manner after the smoke had been suppressed. She embarrassedly balled up her hand to contain it. Her eyebrows turned inward and her eyes anxiously dilated at him beneath her otherwise motionless attitude.

"But, Ms. Nerz, today is your lucky day," he traced his finger around a water glass. "This isn't a situation where I would find that to be immediately beneficial. In fact, since you're so knowledgeable, I would expect you to treat my identity carefully and responsibly."

"Tell me something sensitive," the inventor narrowed her eyes. "What _do_ you want? In general. Out of all this. You accepted the job quickly, back there. It must be for a good reason. What do you want out of life, really? I would respect you much more and start to treat you as an actual human being if you just told me. I'm curious."

Nelle was a very coarse person; openly admitting that she had been treating him like a deadly object didn't seem trying for her.

But who could ever blame her?

What he truly desired wasn't a difficult question for him, since he mulled on it repetitively and did so more than he could count.

"I want a clean name. I want to live my life free of worry from the law. My name, my reputation... Everything associated with Captain Kuro has become a malignant sore. I want to be rid of this chase, this worry. How should I put it understandably so that you may get even a gleam of what it feels like?," Kuro lifted the lacquered box from the table, his stare unthinkingly getting lost its patterns. "It's an irritating, lifelong ball-and-chain that threatens my happiness and my sanity. It's the closest thing that I can compare to being eaten alive in the slowest manner possible. I believe that too many people use that expression, but rarely do they say what they mean or understand it to the extent that I have."

Nelle's eyebrows were drawn up, nearly fixed in place. The engineer wore a slightly irritating, patronizing frown at him that attempted to feign understanding, but her expression was still too stolid to be convincing. Could she have possibly been holding back some biting remark?

"Huh. Well. I don't exactly know what to say for consolation. It's all very fascinating, but I, personally... Don't take this the wrong way. Just, excuse me, I'm not specialized in these situations. I'm sorry," she pressed her fingers together on her forehead. "I think the easiest way to do that," the inventor removed her pipe and freed its smoke to the side. "Is to become the man who doesn't deserve it."

Not all men deserved second chances in life, but there were some who got them regardless of their evil, and rarely was it a fair world. There was an awkwardly lengthy lapse, occupied by silence and mutual eye contact. Due to Kuro's adamant nature, he rarely found others' ideas to be of any worth in comparison to his own, but this gnawed at him slowly, and he grimly worried that he wouldn't be able to—that he wouldn't want to.

"Your words are thought-provoking. However…"

"Is it really that difficult for you?"

"There isn't a need to press into my personal matters," Kuro quickly answered his employer's interruption. "I want wealth. I want peace of mind. I just want to be happy, and those are the ingredients. Money can't buy me peace, this is true, but it can bring me satisfaction. A clear mind is what I desire. Nothing in the world is more valuable," he sighed wistfully as he stared at the plain ceiling, though his mind was filled with an elusive, seemingly unattainable dream and the faint smell of smoke. "Nothing."


	12. The Lady and the Liar

Another long chapter. Think of the next one as "Chapter 11: Part Two", even if I'll call it 12. I had to split this monster.

After such a long break, it surprised me that it's still possible for people to maintain an interest in this type of story.

Thanks for keeping up and giving your feedback if you ever did so, it really helps tune my writing.

I must personally thank **JLBB** for keeping up with this thus far. I really appreciate your feedback; you are awesome!

~Swaben**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 11:**

**The Lady and the Liar  
**

"Klahadore?"

A thin young woman sat by the window, surrounded by whitish walls and bed coverings. It was early morning, and everything appeared exceedingly clear outside. Her pale, flaxen hair acquired a radiant glow from all of the light that scattered inside of her spacious bedroom.

"May I have a glass of water?"

She coughed weakly, clutching her fragile knees. Sighing to herself afterwards, she appeared distraught, and despondently leaned against the pastel pillows ornamenting the mattress. Her petite frame was shrouded in the faded blue of her sleeping gown. If anyone was to guess, she appeared to be about sixteen.

"Yes, m'lady."

The valet cart rolled, creaking a bit, and the butler stopped it with a deceivingly gentle hand. He watched as the water transferred from the pitcher and swirled into the translucent glass, creating a multitude of tiny spheres of light from the reflections. Her blanched hand took it from his, and it shook in her grasp.

"Thank you," she smiled at the window. The birds that dwelt in the nearby tree already started serenading the sun with their shrill songs. He remembered how much she enjoyed watching them flit around on the branches that grew their limbs closest to her.

"Do you ever think I'll be able to travel away from here? I feel so confined."

Her eyes averted to the outside world. The fountain in the estate's massive front yard regally sparkled. Although the girl tried to hide how pained she appeared, there was no disguise that would barricade her bespectacled caretaker from her emotions. They seemed intense, far too clear, and naked in front of his cutting eye.

"I'm not certain, Miss Kaya. Though I would hope that you would find a calling that makes you happy. A bright young lady like yourself shouldn't spend her days wasting away behind walls. Better days are coming," he assured her as if he was following a formula. He echoed to the words to himself and his vision lingered lustfully to the mansion's golden gates that stretched into brilliant, glimmering yellows. "Better days."

"I hope so," she sighed. She lifted her head to subtly smile back at him. "You always make me feel better, Klahadore. We were about to hire someone else, but then we found you. I like you a lot more… Even if you are a little quarrelsome."

She watched his facial expression change and tried not to laugh, but she gave in to his surprised frown.

"I'm sorry. You know that I'm just kidding."

"It's not a problem," he exchanged a small smile with her and watched as her eyes softened. "Quarrelsome_,_ huh? It just has to be that word?"

"Quarrelsome: apt to argue in an often petty manner. _Contentious_," she tittered at him, humoring herself by pushing the limits of her mischievousness.

"Oh, now I'm contentious, too!" the slim man tightened his lip. "Well, you've certainly been studying."

Kaya exchanged a proud smile with him. Her focus drew to the outside again. Some of the leaves were cradled in the gentle wind. A small bird seemed content alighting on the branch and just staring at her, moving its feathered head from side to side and cheeping. They had such airy freedom, even the young ones.

"Have you ever wondered what it'd be like to be a bird?"

"No. Never. I haven't," the butler adjusted the small washcloth that was slung over his arm. "I can only be glad that it stays out there, and not anywhere near me," he compulsively rubbed his nose and snuffed the air at the thought.

"Oh, that's right. I find it sad that you're allergic to such lovely animals. I'm sorry that I mentioned it."

"There isn't a need to apologize for anything, my lady."

His words were said with such formulaic insistence, his soft tone masking a desolate interior.

"Would you like to go out to town today? We can get breakfast. It's a beautiful day."

"Oh, that's not necessary," the tallish man replied hastily. "I have plenty of work to do here."

"Well, maybe Usopp can come with me. He's always up for an adventure," she fawningly smiled towards the window this time. She was a young girl with an unlikely friend: a young girl potentially in love, while she was still blissfully unaware of its meaning.

"Him, of all people? Miss Kaya, that boy is hazardous to your upbringing—he's a bad influence. He has the blood of the pirate coursing through him, and that can never be trusted."

The manservant adjusted the collar of his crisp, black uniform with a sheltering glare.

"… I think you're wrong," Miss Kaya frowned, her look becoming vulnerable. "You should try and spend more time with him—he's really clever, too, just like you are! I wouldn't like him if he wasn't a good person. … Do you really underestimate me and my judgment, Klahadore? The way he talks about his father, he might have been an honorable pirate."

The butler stared at her with flabbergasted astonishment beneath an otherwise collected figure.

"An _honorable_ pirate? That's absurd. Pirates are vile people!"

There was a cutting edge to his voice that disappeared as quickly as it was thrown into the air, and it sounded suspiciously personal, expository and naked. Kaya didn't say anything to combat his sudden flash of emotion.

"I simply won't permit it," he finished, occupying himself by cleaning one of the wine glasses that he had picked up from the valet cart, but he repeated the action unnecessarily, as if out of habit to calm his temper.

A silence fell upon the room and blurred the gap between the two. The sickly girl drew her eyebrows close and stared down at the sheets of her bed, and then up at her butler.

Her response let out in the form of a hesitant murmur.

"You're not my father."

His expression tightened in defense. It was a shockingly powerful statement for a girl like the demure Kaya.

"… I know that, Miss Kaya. I'm only looking out for your safety. That's all. I'm only trying to give you a little extra sense. They'll only hurt you in the end, and to think that they have children so freely is sickening. The brood of one could easily be traitorous. But, I digress…" his countenance grew surprisingly warm again, and his voice turned soft, and almost fragile. He aired out a stray feather that crept through the window with his wash cloth. "I suppose that your tolerance stretches far beyond mine. Do as you wish. I'm not stopping you this time."

She sulked at him, noticeably overtaken with sudden guilt, and cast her grey-brown eyes downward, only for the glance to return up towards him.

"I'm really sorry, Klahadore…"

Her voice sounded sincere, and not anything unlike her. But something was off, something was strange: his own vision was trapped within the water vase below him. The light reflecting off of it circled and swirled, and inside of it he glimpsed at a tiny and glimmering moon. It vibrated and distorted with the ripples of water, just then appearing lucid and very bright. He was drawn in, and certain of its anomalous existence.

"Klahadore?"

That familiar voice echoed and seemed to surround him. He felt compelled to continue the situation, but he was stuck, immobile, frozen in that very second. The light that breached the window was overtaking him, and as he finally turned, everything was becoming too bright and indistinguishable, and too unknown. Everything was white, but the voice reiterated, until it fell into a distant hush.

"_Klahadore?"_

"_Klahadore…?"_

The white fan shook slowly above him and occasionally creaked.

Its tassel swirled quietly. Bright lines were strewn across the guest bed from the early morning.

He wasn't in an estate. He was far from it.

Kuro wasn't entirely sure that the dream was a pure fabrication to piece together past events, or simply a replay of a memory that had been embedded in his conscience. Either way, he remembered. The Kaya in his dream acted just like the Kaya in reality did. There must have been at least an ounce of truth to the scene, within her very words, and within those that he felt compelled to say.

Klahadore_: _the name haunted him. Yes, he still dreamed of it. He still dreamed of that place, of her, of them. He recounted all of his deep-seated hatred for Kaya's genuine little smile, her innocence, and her happiness in spite of all of her pain, her losses, and all that was planned for her. Perhaps he was jealous of that trait, though he would never come to terms with it.

Kaya adapted amazingly to imperfect situations. Like a flower petal floating in the breeze, she persisted to wherever the winds would take her with surprising resilience in spite of all the chaos that she could have intensified, and landed in soft soil eventually, where her essence would nourish whatever was around her. She lacked the enormously high expectations that tethered Kuro's heart to frequent anger and dissatisfaction, in a world where he was expected to get along with the people who shared it with him.

It unsettled him, how much she loved him like a daughter would, or even just as a friend. Her parents' untimely and unprecedented deaths made it even more difficult, afterwards having had to take the reins to get her through the tumultuous stages of adolescence. Kaya's loving, familial smile felt like needles under his skin. It made him feel like a block of ice, and he was the single person, up to that fateful day where his plan was ruined, that knew that he wasn't meant to be welcome into such a gracious family. He remembered how he took such vile pleasure in telling her that she was a fool, and that she had been led on for years of her life under his soft-spoken voice and mild eyes. He vividly remembered seeing her clear tears dry on her hands and fall onto the soil, and how his ego scrambled to pick them up as if they were tiny opals trickling down into a safe.

_For what?_

The question echoed, like an impatient journalist tapping their pen against his skull.

All of it was wasted on a devastating failure, one that would change his life irrevocably. If that Straw Hat didn't show up, he was certain that he would've gotten his way, and his mansion. He was like an immature child, finding excuses after periods of bafflement, finding solace in putting blame not in himself but in the circumstance.

"_I've almost forgotten how much I had spent on sake_," Kuro mused in his tranquil solitude. _"Being away from the old Bezan has been more serendipitous than I thought_."

Kuro drank a lot upon his return to sea, irresponsibly so. It was a futile, very human attempt to drink away his grievous disappointment. If he hadn't, he may have still been Captain at this very moment. He was not known for messiness or irresponsibility, especially with thought-altering substances like alcohol, unless he lost his temper, or his mind. His off-color mood swings and drunken tongue-lashings were tiring and frightful for his crew. As soon as he slipped, the consuming sort of depression that came from it was unprecedented and out of character. Or, was it really? These were questions he avoided reconciling, due to fear of feeling weak and spineless, and feeling all like what he had hated for so long.

_For what?_

Kuro closed his eyes for a moment, and shifted himself to the side of the bed. He put on his glasses and adjusted them in his odd, palm-up way, behind the secrecy of a closed door. He knew that he needed to break the habit. Being alive when the world required him to be doubly dead entitled him to more than enough prudence.

Maybe, he secretly wished that he could have been happy, if he was just like Klahadore. If he was just like Klahadore, he would still be walking through the halls of that mansion, eating fine food, drinking fine spirits, and living an overall fine life as a butler.

If he was truly Klahadore instead of Captain Kuro, he would have been perfectly pleased with that life. Klahadore would have bought a tidy home next to Kaya's estate, and, perhaps settled down with a wife afterwards, and had a few children. There were a handful of women who admired that man. Hungry looks from roaming bachelorettes would occasionally be sent his way, though they tried to hide how their eyes followed him. Over those couple of years he would sometimes be sent flowers from an unknown source, but they would always die within a few days. He rejected these pretty yet otherwise non-functional courtship gifts. He was mildly impressed when at one time a woman had the sense to buy him a nice pair of dark, leather loafers. That made no difference in his opinion of them all, as he found the lot of them unremarkable, unworthy, and painfully unintelligent in comparison to himself.

No woman could see through to his deepest desires. He was quite content with the solitude ever since he was convinced that love was a fantasy-ridden and incomprehensible concept that he would never be burdened to experience. It remained something that he didn't quite understand, or even know for certain if he'd ever felt it. The more that they cared blindly, the less accurate that they became to his fancies. And so, he adamantly wore his striped shoes for his entire career, regardless if they were leftovers from his pirating days.

Then, ironically, he was returned to the sea where they belonged, though it was never in his best interest nor his expectation.

It had already been at least one week since he was recovered off of the Milltonian coast. This was about the seventh day that he'd slept in this guest bed and became Mr. Kurt Pierce. He still found it to be an adjustment, one that he was still in the process of accepting as his decided fate.

What could possibly be any better? Certainly he wouldn't want to work at the fishery, or try his hand as a waiter, having to smile prettily at customers for the entire day. He still wanted to pursue the wealth that escaped him. But simply being in this room, free of the majority of his own belongings that he grew so used to, was still a shock to the senses. He didn't deal well with precarious, unplanned change. He wasn't a tree that bent with the wind; he more so snapped under it, or remained unchangeable even if bending would benefit him during the storm.

His employer's voice could be heard from outside of the bedroom. It sounded like she was caught up in a call, and she was using that flat, forceful tone that often heralded business and importance.

It coaxed him from bed due to his nosiness, and he stealthily leaned against the door-frame to drink in the conversation.

"Excuse me? … No, no, I'm sorry, that's not how you do it. Look, I'm going to be out of town soon, so this number isn't even going to be applicable anymore, you're going to have to reach me at—huh? You have to rotate the cuff on the side until the gas on the inside is sealed within. Then you—yes, perfect. Then you can cook your eggs on it, or whatever else that doesn't spontaneously combust. Okay. No problem. Thank you. Uh-huh. Bye," the loud clunk on the snail phone startled the creature as the inventor sighed.

Her business matters in terms of her own engineering work were of little importance to Kuro, but he was already getting an impression of why she was desperate for change. Nelle picked up the receiver again and groggily held it up towards her ear, still oblivious to his calculated eavesdropping.

"Half of the time, these assholes don't even pay me for putting up with this... What am I, a doormat?" she aimlessly arranged the papers in front of her into a more symmetrical alignment. "_Hey, Nelle, you're not going to make a living. What do you even do? An office job?" _

What escaped his employer was a subdued, mocking voice that seemed entirely out of his ordinary perception of her. He observed from afar in bewilderment. He wondered how long it would take her to get out of focus and actually notice him.

"_Hey, Nelle, can you fix this? Can you fix that? I only have 100 Beri, but can you fix that? From the bottom of your heart, Nelly? For me? What's it like being the only inventor in town? It's really too bad that you're broke all the time!" _she flamboyantly gestured with the receiver while the snail attached to it waited expectantly. The very much alive creature shot her a sleepy look, and was thoroughly out of its element. Infuriated, she slashed a phone number with a line of ink from her pen. _"Gee, I love your work, but what is it? Instructions? What's that? A manual? I never read instructions. I'm too much of a spoiled wanker to look at them, so, with all due respect, can I be a goddamned nuisance and—!" _

The receiver jumped out of the inventor's hand as soon as she noticed his presence. She gave a robust flinch.

"… Oh. It's Mr. Pierce."

The phone's curled wire stretched off of the counter and slowly spun and bounced and twisted near her lap during the awkward quiet. She cleared her throat while he derisively smiled at her. Her slouch switched into an upright sit and her jaw tightened into a forced greeting.

"You're up... _Early_. I hope that you've been enjoying this weather. Out there is the start of a beautiful day. Calm. Serene. Very quiet. No sea lions," Nelle was clearly attempting distraction with the pointless trivialities of the seasons, and she quickly straightened her demeanor to fall back into her usual business. Her aberrant vendetta against sea lions was still unexplained. In the previous nights, she talked extensively about her suggested target, whom Kuro promptly agreed to seek out with hidden excitement at the prospect of the gold.

A man named Hayato was the leader of those alley ruffians. For his capture, the government wanted as much as 8,000,000 Beri. The numerical form as it was typed onto his record made Kuro anxious with the lust for money.

"He's the son of Higuma the Bear—do you remember that story, by any chance? Have you heard it? It was around nine years ago, or something close; he's the man who got eaten by the sea reptile off of this tiny village's coast," Nelle said. "A freak accident, if I ever heard one. Hayato comes from a long line of bandits who occupy the mountain range bordering the Goa Kingdom's southeast sector."

He was told by Nelle that Peyli and her brother, Derik, the boy whom he dealt a shattered wrist to, were sent to Milltown to ransack boats and townsfolk for supplies, and, most obviously, for money. Why these two were sent so far away from Hayato's apparent stronghold was a mystery to him. Maybe bandits were just irrational. Maybe they didn't know how costly long journeys at sea were since they often didn't take them.

Nelle pointed at the map. "Dawn Island is where they told me Hayato's been preparing his assault on one of the mountain passes, fairly close to an otherwise insignificant farming settlement called Foosha Village. I couldn't push much more out of them, but it's clear that he has his sights set on a large piece of territory around there. ... Have you been there before?"

"Briefly, actually," responded Kuro. "I don't recall it very much... It was a long time ago. I had more important business elsewhere."

His eyes narrowed for a moment as he tried to dig for the memory of who drove him away. He wouldn't dare tell anybody that it actually wasn't his choice to leave.

He shook the thought and tuned it out as it grew too silent.

"I called sources to confirm that he's indeed somewhere in the area, but the police force there is having a hard time. I wouldn't even call them police, their unit is so damned small. It's almost sad," Nelle shook her head. "Foosha Village's southeast portion is right here. It's where we should stay. I didn't want to yammer into Noble business with the Goa Kingdom. They probably wouldn't have even let me on the line."

"That's an awfully long way away from here," Kuro mused how many nautical miles it would be from the scale of the map. "Do you honestly think that a young bandit in his prime would prowl in the same place for so long?"

"I don't exactly know, Mr. Pierce, I'm no bandit. But apparently the mountains surrounding Goa Kingdom are chock full of them."

Kuro had a few minimal run-ins with bandits during his time as a pirate, but he never stayed around them long enough to learn their hierarchies and various methods of looting. He found them to be dirty, confusing creatures, just as typical pirates were to him. It was entirely pompous, judging how he refused to ever accept that he, too, was an integral part of the very menagerie that he found so filthy.

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Don't make fun of me. This would be a journey worth investing in. You're one of the strongest men in the East Blue, and since you have a propensity to work alone, I'm making our circle of connections relating to you as tight and minimal as possible, as you requested," she tapped her pen against the map. "There's eight million on the line for his capture, and who knows about the extra pickings from his followers. I think it's worth it, unless you would rather starve. I have faith that such a task wouldn't be fatal for a man like you—eyes on the prize."

Kuro smiled at the prospect of extra money.

"I'm fully capable of taking down some easy mark like him. How old does it say he is? Twenty? He shouldn't be taxing. I'm not worried, but I'll do my share of research beyond what's been given. I'm surprised those kids ratted him out."

"Actually, they didn't exactly rat him out, or they didn't actually_ mean_ to... It was more… Hm. Almost a nudge for help, the way they talked about how he was preparing for a battle with a rival. However, I didn't pick up on anyone else as strong or stronger than him in my records…"

Nelle appeared somewhat troubled at any sign of missing data.

"I'm not entirely convinced," Kuro replied dispassionately. "This young man is my target, and I'm going to take it. I have a feeling that those greenhorns could have easily been stretching the truth. Judging by the information you received, it seems that his preparation is still in its beginning stages. … Also, the clients should always go through you, unless I otherwise say so. That ensures my right to privacy. This can't be too difficult," his eyes drew over the report of the bandit leader.

The young man in the photo wore dark shades that shielded the color of his eyes, even though they were marked down as brown. His facial structure was fierce, with a strong brow and the beginnings of a dark beard that was sharply cut and peppered onto his chin. It was very curious how much he resembled his father, the deceased Higuma, when looked at side-by-side, yet he had the much more hale appearance of a youthful fighter. It was ironic that they shared the same bounty.

"Eight million Beri… How much of this will go to me?"

"Oh?" Nelle drew back in confusion. "I thought that I told you. Fifty percent, even."

Kuro's pupils shrunk.

"_Fifty _percent? You mean tell me that I'll receive _half_?" he agitatedly stared at the official dividend, stamped boldly with the World Government insignia.

"Yes, that's correct. Do you not remember what I went over with you three days ago? Have you been out drinking? Since you lack proper identification for the World Government… I think this split of bounty money is fair, and reasonable. It's the official dividend."

He glared caustically.

"I bet you turned the cards in your favor, you lying weasel. I was asleep while you were making those calls. I didn't ever hear you talking to an official."

It wasn't difficult nor surprising for Kuro to get aggressive about financial issues. He was on the verge of feeling the anger physically pulse through him.

"You call me a liar when I've been as honest with you as I could. You dare accuse me of being dishonest when your previous career was built on that," Nelle's gaze was intense and it forwent all fear that would otherwise be present. "Ungrateful hellcat, I could have left you to the sharks."

"I would have been just fine," his teeth clenched as he leaned above her.

She drew away.

"You know how miserably you'd be framed if you laid a hand on me now."

Kuro bit his tongue from further annoyance, but his gaze was intense.

"Let's get back on task before I start thinking twice about my options."

Nelle bit the bottom of her pen and began to write. Both cooled down under the silence.

"The payday is worth it, Mr. Pierce," her voice sounded diluted. "This doesn't have to be a dichotomy. This is a joint business. That you should have understood from the very beginning."

"Don't patronize me," he responded icily after his eyes scanned the dividend a second time. "Very well, then. I suppose a sea captain knows little about government dealings, even a man as learned as myself. … So, fifty percent goes to me, fifty percent goes to you. That's a very simple and uncreative proposal on their part."

Nelle responded unexpectedly with a boredom-laden nod.

"Since we need a pool of money for supplies, accommodations, food, and other necessities, I request that at least one fourth of the total earned money go towards it."

"Ms. Nerz, if I have to split that money with anybody else and lower my percentage of pay even more than this, then I swear to you, my remorselessness towards your life is legendary."

"I understand. It's not like I intend to lower my pay either," the inventor actually grinned and gestured at him as if trying to joke. "Anyways. The twelve-point-five percent would be subtracted from each of our pays, and put towards a common bank account. The extraction could be flexible, but have faith in my money management."

She had such redundant compulsions to be as specific as possible. He supposed that he shouldn't complain, as an inaccurate dealer of business, especially if one was unversed in fighting already, would be something close to Hell for someone who valued money to the extent that Kuro did. It saved him the work, but he also ceaselessly bombarded her with challenges with every piece of information—he still wasn't at the stage where he completely trusted her integrity, and his desire for control was obvious.

He made a grabbing motion with his hand.

"Paper. Quickly. Pen. Since you enjoy charts and figures so much, I'm going to draw this out for you, and I'm going to hold you to this money plan…_ Forever_."

"Fair enough," she gave him a quizzical raise of her bold eyebrows, and continued on with her briefing. "Now, you're going to love the transportation deal I was set up with for this. It's so economic, so _easy_… What are you writing? That doesn't look like a valid…"

His manager suddenly gasped with exasperation at his pen strokes.

"Blackmail…?!"

Kuro glanced at the woman underneath his knowledge of how much she hated another obnoxious and pressing obligation. He contentedly smirked into his own handwriting once he knew how much he had her by the throat.


End file.
